


Breaking Barricade

by Steena



Series: The pound 'verse [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Coercion, Collars, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Leashes, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Vaginal Sex, Non-consensual Medical Procedures, Non-consensual making of porn, Non-consensual sticky interfacing, Public Humiliation, Public use of sex toys, Rape, Rape with toys, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Torture, non-consensual anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/pseuds/Steena
Summary: Long before Jazz bought the broken Interceptor on a whim, Barricade was a stubborn and prideful mech. Sure, he surrendered. His continued functioning was rather dear to him and how bad could Optimus Prime, the bleeding spark that he is, really punish a Decepticon?But that was way back.Before he met his first owner. This is the story of how Barricade went from our sassy Decepticon police Interceptor to the nervous, twitchy and submissive wreck Jazz takes home from the pound.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a prequel to the pound, overlapping with some of Barricade's first chapters. It's mostly just torture and non-con, so if you don't like that, don't read. No happy ending to this piece, since it's just his life from his surrender until just before his first Master traded him for a new slave at the pound.

Of all things to bring him down after millions of years surviving the war, Barricade never saw it coming that it would be a  _human_. 

The skinny female who once, back when they arrived on Earth, was the mate of Ladiesman217, and her green Paratrooper/Sniper sidekick, has him cornered. If it wasn't for her, he would probably have managed to slip away, but she just  _had_  to see him hitting the fence and shot him with a fucking stun grenade, giving her and the Autobot time to have him neatly boxed in against the wall. He's crouching in a puddle of mud, coiled like a rattlesnake poised to strike, the rain still pelting down.  _He fragging_ hates _this planet. If it isn't dust and dirt, it's water and mud. And fucking_ humans _._

It is pretty fragging obvious that they are losing. Megatron is down, the Prime's energon blade sliding through his spark chamber and his frame going gray the obvious sign that they are without a leader again. Starscream is already apprehended. 

"Decepticons, surrender now and you will not be deactivated!" Optimus Prime's voices carries over the sound of the battle dying down.

_What to do?_  The humans have that saying of the last options being fight, fuck or hit the fence. The last option is already out of the equation.  _Fucking is just..._  He looks at Crosshairs and then at the human.  _...no_. That leaves fighting. 

Looking around, he sees his brothers in arms slowly drop their weapons, powering their cannons down.  _Fraggers._  He can't fight them alone, and while being apprehended leaves a sour taste in his intakes, deactivation isn't on his to-do list for the day. He slowly stretches out of his defensive crouch, drops his flail and the blaster, offlines his integrated guns and holds his servos above his helm.

Crosshairs walks up to him, covered by the organic. It would be laughable if he didn't know how bad those stun grenades scramble his systems.  _And how good a shot she is._

"On the ground, servos on the back of your helm,  _now_!" Crosshairs barks.

He sinks to his knees before dropping down on his front in the wretched mud. As soon as his servos touches his helm, Crosshairs is on him, knee on his back and wrenching his arms behind him. The stasis cuffs hums to life and his arms goes numb.

"Police brutality! Anybot filming this?" He snarks venomously when Crosshairs hauls him to his feet none too gently.

The human snorts.

"Funny fucker, this one." She says.

"Funny like a pit viper." Crosshairs replies, unamused.

Barricade smirks.  _He still has his edge_. The ridiculously softsparked Prime will probably incarcerate them for a couple of hundred years, but what is that to a Cybertronian? He'll recharge and bide his time and then he will be on the loose again.

They're rounded up at ground zero for the fight, heavily armed humans and Autobots not letting their guards down for a second.

The TIC and the Weapons specialist mounts signal dampers on all the Decepticon's weapons. The humans have organized transportation back to the Autobot base and they're all crammed into aircrafts. Tensions are high between the still active Decepticons, blaming each other for their defeat as well as between the Autobots and their prisoners.

Finally,  _Jazz_  seems to have had enough. The Autobot TIC glides silently from Con to Con, talons sliding under plating to put them in stasis as easily as if it was an everyday occurrence. When he gets to Barricade, the Interceptor snarls and tries to avoid the creepy mech but Jazz just smiles and twists Barricade's arms in some way that makes the Mustang fall to his knees faster than he can reboot his optics. Then talons slides against his protoform, a cable is tugged and everything is black.

 

 

*****

 

 

They reboot in the brig of the Autobot base, half a hangar reinforced with bars with high currents running through them. The Bots are preparing a spacebridge and individual cages for them all.

Still halfway through his reboot, he watches the other Decepticons be loaded into cages and sent through the bridge. Mohawk tries to to make a break for it, escorted by the female who caught Barricade, but she drops him on the spot with a long shock prod to his frame. The small mech twitches and jerks as the current runs through his circuits. Crosshairs easily lifts Mohawk and dumps him in a cage, then he comes for Barricade.

The Interceptor sneers but the Bot doesn't pay him any mind, just grabs his arm and shoulderwing in a secure grip and forces him forward, into the small cage. Then the cage is pushed into the spacebridge and Barricade's sensors goes haywire with disorientatingly contradictive input before he finds himself in a loading dock on Cybertron, purging his tank from the vertigo.

Their cages are loaded into a ground transport and he sinks to the floor, still weak and dizzy, trying not to sit in his own puke while more Decepticons are loaded into the transport. He leans his forehelm against his knees and offlines his optics.

_What now?_  Probably holding cell-trial-imprisonment.  _Prime did promise nobot would be deactivated, so they should be safe from execution_. Being behind bars isn't something he's looking forward to. Barricade is a racer. He craves the open road, speed and chasing the sun setting on the horizon. It's kind of ironic that he hated Earth just a few hours ago and here he is, getting poetic about the things he enjoyed there.  _Perspectives do change over time._

He's rudely awakened from his musings when the transport stops and they are unloaded by armed guards. 

"Eew, fragging glitch purged his tank." One of them sneers when he's dragged from his crate.

One of the other guards laugh. "Better than the next transport. One of them got rowdy and they had to taze him. The rookie got a little too excited and tazed him a little too long, made him both purge  _and_  void his waste tanks."

"Disgusting." The guard pushes him harshly in the back. "Start walking, you glitch." He barks at Barricade, jamming a gun in his back.

He does as he's told, not up for being tazed or shot. The guard pushes him into a room that looks like washracks, but there are no shower heads.

"Stand still." The guard orders.

The Interceptor yelps in surprise when he's douzed in freezing cold solvent, a mech using a pressure washer to clean the mud and filth off of him. Barricade had forgotten how cold the solvent can be on Cybertron. A cold-water carwash on Earth would feel nice after a hard drive.  _This is decidedly uncomfortabl_ e.

When they deem him clean enough, he's pushed through another door. The guard leaves him with two mechs with markers for being medics. 

One of them pries the panel over his medical port open while the other holds him. A computer is connected to him, medical overrides giving them access to some of his systems even though he tries to fight it. His guns and comms are offlined and made inaccessible, along with his battle protocols. Then his hydraulic pressure is lowered.

"Fraggers!" He snarls, fighting weakly, still in stasis cuffs and weakened by their modifications.

They don't care, easily wrangles him onto the medical berth and takes the stasis cuffs off of him. Instead, they restrain his arms and legs with the cuffs welded to the berth. He struggles with the restraints when his T-cog is made inaccessible.

"No! What the  _hell_! You give me that back!" Barricade screams angrily.  _He_ needs to _drive,_ dammit _!_

"Feisty little mech, this one. He'll make somebot really happy."

He doesn't understand what they are talking about, and he doesn't really care at the moment. He just wants the access to his fragging T-cog back.

A collar is snapped into place around his neck, some of his circuitry rewired and spliced to run through the tight band chafing against his neckcables. When it's physically integrated with his frame, he sees in his HUD when the computer hardlined into his systems rerouts some data to always run through the thing.

The medic not working on his software, done with mounting the collar, presses on his cheeks with a hard servo and after a few seconds of stubborn resistance, Barricade gives in under the pain and opens his intake. A metal ring is placed between his sharp denta, held in place by magnets.

"Good width of his intake, his denta can fold back flat. Just needs somebot to train him to do it on command." The mech inspecting his intake says.

"Nice!" The other medic says, writing something on a datapad.

Barricade tries to turn his helm away when the medic eases his digits into his intake, poking and prodding at his glossa deep enough to make the Interceptor gag. He swallows the pooling oral lubricant with effort as his glossa is lifted.

"Long glossa too."

The ring is removed when the medic seems satisfied with the exam.

Then the medic intruding in his systems lock the access to his spike, disabling the pressurizing protocols.

"What the  _fuck_?!" He snarls, yanking furiously on the cuffs.

His struggles takes on a panicked tinge when his interface panel and valve cover slides away without his permission and is locked open.

" _No_! Close that right now!"

They don't even glance at him, just pulls a couple of levers on the berth that folds to lift and spread his legs, leaving his aft almost hanging over the edge. Barricade bucks and writhes to get loose but it's futile. One of the medics tightens a strap low over his abdomen to immobilize him further.

_Digits slides into his valve_.

Barricade whines in disgust when the digits curls and wriggles, feeling around inside him.

"No seal, but still fairly tight. Calipers seems to be in order." The medic says, the other one tapping away at the datapad.

The digits starts to rub something and to his horror, he's getting wet. He grinds his denta in shame.

"Lubrication works fine."

The digits slides out and the medic reaches for a tube. He pours something on his digits. It looks like lubricant and Barricade is confused by that.

Until the digits are pressed against his wasteport.

"No! What are you doing, you fragger!" He snarls, trying to get away.

"Shh,  _relax_. It will hurt less if you try to relax.

_How the fuck is he supposed to relax when he's having digits shoved up his aft?!_

The medic presses harder and in spite of Barricade's port spasming to close against the intrusion, they slide inside, slick with lubricant. He cries out in pain. The medic holds still for a few seconds, until the opening reflexively relaxes around his digits. Then he pulls out. Barricade feels his port closing up with a clench around the digits as they slide out.  _He feels so violated._

"Closing reflex is really good."

The medic quickly slides inside again when Barricade's port reflexively relaxes after the clench and the Interceptor squirms in discomfort when the medic wriggles his digits inside him.

"His port is really tight and responsive."

_He suddenly wants to cry, barely manages to hold back a sob, because it's the most humiliating thing he's ever been through and it isn't something he ever thought would happen to him._

The way his port clenches when the medic pulls his digits out just rubs it in, makes it feel even worse when he's left there, spread and on display while the medic washes his servos. The other medic steps between his legs, looking at his valve and Barricade glares at him, tries to turn his humiliation to anger.

It does nothing to discourage the mech. He slides unwanted digits through the folds of Barricade's valve slit, slides inside as if it was his right and touches nodes that makes Barricade start to lubricate.

"He's really quick to respond." He says to the other medic who just chuckles.

"I wish we could make a deeper...  _exam_. A real test drive. All the others so far have been sealed." The mech still fingering him says.

"Maybe we'll be allowed to do that later. But right now, we have more work to do. Lot's of Cons still coming in."

He's let up from the berth and cuffed again, glaring at the medic in front of him, the one who made the intrusive exam. Barricade is wishing he could cover his array with his servos but he can't with his servos cuffed behind his back.

"Aaw, the little Decepticon is  _angry_. Better get used to it,  _Con..._ "

He hasn't noticed the other medic coming up behind him and jerks when something stings a line in his neck. He immediately starts feeling drowsy and unsteady.

"...you're our property now."

A guard comes to get him and he can't put up much of a fight, drugged as he is. The guard leads him down a long line of cells and Barricade is vaguely aware of servos touching him in places he doesn't like, the cloying field of the guard leading him.  _The despair from the rest of the prisoners._  He's pushed inside a cell of his own and lays down on the floor, helm spinning from the drugs.  _He's still active, but he somehow imagined incarceration to be... well, not like this._

*****

 

 

When the drugs has worn off a bit, leaving him a little more clear helmed, Barricade is dismayed when he looks around. His cell is really small and completely bare. The front is a see through force field and the hallway is patrolled by guards.

_He needs to void his primary waste tank._

Looking around, all he sees is a floor drain.  _Is he supposed to...?!_  He thinks about asking the guards, but that would drag their attention to him, giving him even less privacy.  _On the other servo, it would be incredibly embarrassing to be caught using the drain like that if he isn't supposed to._

"Uhm... I need to void my tank." He tells the guard when he passes.

"So?"

"Am I supposed to use the drain?" He motions vaguely to it.

"If you don't want to recharge in your fluids, I suggest you do. What, isn't it nice enough for you? No three berthroom suite with two washracks?" The guard asks venomously.

"No, I'm not an uppity  _towers brat_  who needs a servant to wipe my aft." Barricade sneers.

" _Attitude_. I suggest you drop that. Or somebot is going to take great delight in getting it out of you." The guard smirks. "Go ahead, void your tank." He motions to the drain.

"I don't need to go  _right now_. Just thought it would be good to know." Barricade says.

"Mhm." 

The guard doesn't leave. Barricade really do need to void his tank, but he doesn't want to go in front of the mech, so he sits down on the floor and waits for the mech to get tired of his game and leave.

_He doesn't._  

The mech stays by Barricade's cell until his shift is over. By the time he finally leaves, Barricade is close to breaking and going anyway. As soon as the mech is out of the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him, the Interceptor scrambles to the drain and finally voids his tank with a relieved groan.

He hardly finishes before the next shift walks by, throwing small cubes of energon into the cells. The Interceptor takes it suspiciously.  _It could be anything._

On the other servo, he purged his tanks before and he is pretty low. If he refuses it and goes into stasis, they'll pump him full of whatever they want anyway. So he grabs the cube and opens it, sniffing the fluid inside to let his sensors gather data.

It is energon, a really low grade, and some additives he suspects is drugs. He downs the sludge in one go, making a face at the taste.

At least he isn't dangerously low anymore. He lays on his back, powers down as much as he can to save energy. The effect of the drugs comes creeping slowly, blankets him in numb dizziness and he can't help but embrace it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Barricade learns that he isn't going to prison and meets his first Master.

Something is going on. There are more guards on duty than normal. They seem stressed, hurrying back and forth, and there's something that almost feels like anticipation in the air.

Barricade looks at what's going on in the hallway with bleary optics. It has been hard to recharge here, the floor is so Primus damned cold. His low energon levels leaves his processor sluggish and that doesn't help with his confusion, neither does the drugs that are pumped into him every time he refuels.

Decepticons are pulled out one by one, cursory checked over and sent away escorted by a guard.

"This one's popular. Got several interest notifications in the program." A guard says, pointing at Barricade.

"He's a fragging glitch, but I guess some mechs enjoy a challenge." His co-worker answers.

"Yeah, it's no fun if they don't put up at least some resistance. And those shoulderwings must work perfectly as handles..." 

The other guard barks a laugh.

Barricade doesn't understand what they are talking about. He struggles when they pull him from his cell, as he always does, because so far, leaving the barren cubicle has always been worse than staying there.  _Cold showers, invasive exams and unwanted touching._

Hopefully, they will go to trial, get their sentences. His chronometer has been disabled, but just knowing how long he will be here would be a relief.

He's hosed down, the cold solvent leaving him shivering when they are done, plating clattering. More drugs are injected into a line in his neck and he's locked in a cage in a transport. The Interceptor sits down and leans against the wall, halfway into recharge, as the transport starts moving. The drugs leaves him dizzy and tired, the movements of the transport makes him feel sick so he can't fall into proper recharge. It seems like ages before they stop, but at least he manages not to purge.

They're dragged out again, lead into a building and he's pushed up on a small dais. His wrists are cuffed to an overhead chain and his pedes kicked apart before being magnetized to the floor. The chain is pulled tight and Barricade is forced to stretch to his full length. It's uncomfortable.  _This is a rather unorthodox pose for a trial._  At least, he assumes so. He hasn't been on trial before.

He wishes he could just lay down and recharge. A mouth guard is magnetized to his face and he's outraged by that.  _What is he, a rabid cyberhound needing to be muzzled?!_  He growls weakly behind the thing.  _Fragging drugs making him so weak and tired._

"Can't have you spitting and snapping at the customers." The guard says, unapologetic.

_Customers?_

The guard taps away at a datapad on a floor stand next to Barricade before looking up at the Interrogator again. He smirks and presses two digits into Barricade's valve. The Mustang tears feebly at his chains and growls.

"I wish we had been allowed to test-drive the merchandise. Oh, well. Keep this attitude up. I bet  _somebot_  will take great delight in taking it out of you."

_Merchandise?_

The guard finally pulls his digits out and steps back.

"You're a little dry, but I'm going to fix that for you."

The Autobot unsubspaces a spray canister with a slim nozzle and steps up to Barricade again. The nozzle is pushed into his valve and he feels the wetness of lubricant being sprayed into him. Then the guard pulls the nozzle out, just to slide it into his port. Barricade thrashes furiously in his chains when his aft is slicked up.

The guard just smirks at him before he leaves the Saleen to try to figure out what is going on through his drugged daze.  _He just can't._

*****

 

 

An unknown number of hours later have him thoroughly disgusted and in an equally towering and impotent rage in his helpless position.

There's Autobots walking around, looking at him and the other Decepticons.  _As if they're cybercattle in a market._  

"This one seems scrappy." A mech says, stepping up behind him.

He feels digits prodding his protoform in several places before groping his array.  _Like so many others before him._  Digits in his valve feeling around, thumb sliding into his port. He growls at the unwanted intrusion.

"No seal." The mech's friend says, reading the datapad.

"Too bad. I don't want a  _slut_."

_But apparently, he isn't in a rush to pull his digits out either, as he still wriggles them around inside the Interceptor._

Barricade thrashes in his bindings.

"Most of the others are still sealed. Let's go check them out."

They finally move on and Barricade slumps in his chains.  _What the frag is going on? What's going to happen to him? Is this even legal?_

Another mech steps up to him, closer than most, invading Barricade's personal space with an unusually cloying presence that has the Saleen's plating crawling. A slow smirk stretches the Autobot's lipplates. He keeps optic contact when he slowly rubs through the slit of Barricade's valve with unwanted digits, sliding slowly over the Mustang's anterior node.

_Lubrication starts up and he's getting charged._ Barricade's optics must've brightened with mortification, because the mech's smile turns nasty and he keeps rubbing the Decepticon's node. The Saleen tries to cover his mortification with rage, thrashes and snarls as wildly as he can when the mech slips his digits into Barricade's valve and probably feels how slick he's going.

"I like this attitude." The mech says and steps back, leaving Barricade humiliatingly wet and half charged.

It's a relief when the Autobot walks away, but that doesn't last long. 

He's dragged up onto a stage, handled by two guards.

"Welcome, dear friends, to this first auction for Decepticons..."

_What. The. Actual. Fuck?!_   _As they would put it back on Earth..._

He struggles against the mechs holding his arms.

"...we have a great variety here tonight, hopefully you will find something to your liking. We'll start out with a mech that has had quite a lot of views on our site on the datanet. Designation:  _Barricade_ , groundframe on the smaller side but don't let that fool you. This Con is as feisty as they come and he will need a very firm owner to teach him his place, because he isa  _lot_  to handle..."

But they're  _not_  on Earth anymore. They're on Cybertron and he's being  _sold._  Sold like a cyberpony in an auction. Barricade is furious. Prime didn't say anything about  _this._

"... he's unsealed, so he has probably been around the block, but... _experience_  isn't always something negative, if you know what I mean..." The speaker waggles his eyebrows.

_He makes it sound as if Barricade is a slut._  The Interceptor growls and tries to break free.

"...his valve is still not sloppy though, and his port is  _really_  tight. His denta are foldable and with the right kind of training, he could take it in the intake too."

_It's so very humiliating to be talked about like this in front of all these mechs._

"So, who is up for owning this feisty little Decepticon?"

A couple of mechs starts bidding on him. Barricade is still shocked by the reality that he is actually being sold.  _Like a commodity._

The bidding is quickly over and he's dragged backstage and put in a holding cell. He slides down against the wall, momentarily giving in to his despair.  _He thought he'd go to prison, now he has no idea what's going to happen to him._  He's low on fuel and has struggled against chains and mechs for hours, the drugs are wearing off and he has been sold.  _Like a slave_. Barricade feels like slag. He rests his forehelm against his knees and offlines his optics, curling up.

Other mechs are brought down to the other cells but he doesn't care to look who else is unfortunate enough to be sold.  _It doesn't matter._  He wonders what would have happened if he hadn't been sold, if he would have gone back to prison to be drugged up.  _That would be preferable._

He jerks when the forcefield is deactivated, admitting a guard and the mech from before, the one who made him charged. Barricade sneers behind his mouth guard.

"Get up." The guard orders.

He obeys, if slowly, glaring at his  _owner._  The cuffs and mouth guard are removed and a leash is attached to his collar. _How distastefully cliche._  His  _owner_  grabs the leash and starts walking, Barricade struggling against him every step, digging his pedes in and holding the leash close to his collar with both his servos to keep it from pulling on his neck.

His shock collar activates and he falls to the floor with an uncontrollable warble leaving his vocalizer, limbs twitching.  _It's decidedly uncomfortable._

The guard and the Autobot who _bought_ him easily lift him to his pedes. He's unsteady but still struggles valiantly.  _He's not going to make this easy for his_ owner.

The collar drops him again, the shock going for a little longer this time and his vocalizer crackles with a pained noise as he convulses.

The Autobot holds up a remote for Barricade to see.

"We can do this all night, I have time and don't find it particularly annoying. But it would be much easier for  _you_  to just come along. I will increase the time I'm shocking you every time I have to do it."

He's lifted to his pedes again, grinding his denta in impotent anger. He's seen mechs be shocked for longer periods of time and the results aren't pretty. While he really doesn't feel like complying, he isn't keen on pushing this until he's shocked until he completely loses control of his frame either. 

On wobbly legs, he follows his owner sullenly, the guard smirking at him. He sneers back at the guard.  _He isn't cowed, he just chooses his battles, no matter what that bastard thinks._

"You'll have him trained in no time, Sir. Well done." The guard says.

"I have worked as a slave trainer for difficult slaves for many years. It really isn't that hard, you just have to know which buttons to push."

Barricade seethes silently.  _He isn't going to make this easy. He just doesn't want to suffer the indignity of being shocked until he purges and voids his tanks in a public place like this._ They have reached the lobby by now, Autobots standing around, talking. Some of them sit at the bar. He sees other leashed Decepticons.

"I'll remember that, Sir."

"I find the feisty ones more interesting to train, at least with my experience. Gives me a challenge, takes a little more work and time. This one seems lively."

"I'm _not_  a fragging  _turbopuppy_  that needs training!" Barricade grinds out between clenched denta, unable to keep quiet anymore.

The Autobot sits down on a bench and Barricade is bent over his knee so fast his helm spins. The Interceptor is frozen in incomprehension as the first two slaps lands harshly on his aft with loud clangs. He flails helplessly, unable to get leverage against anything as the mech holds him pinned with an arm across his back, rhythmically  _spanking Barricade's aft. As if he was a wayward youngling._

It would be ridiculous, hardly a punishment for a seasoned warrior, if it wasn't for the fact that _everybot is watching._ More than a few with amused smirks on their faceplates.

The hard slaps, though not excruciating if just one or two, is making his aft burn and sting worse for every hit by the sheer number and he wriggles to get away.

"What in the pit are you  _doing_?! Let me  _down_!" He snarls, humiliation burning at least as bad as his aft.

"Shut your vocalizer,  _slave._  You're not to speak unless spoken to." The Autobot says coldly.

"I'm not a _slave!_  Stop it!" Barricade growls, flailing wildly.

"Yes, you  _are._  I _own_  you,  _Barricade_. And the quicker you stop resisting and start accepting  _whatever_  I do to you, the quicker this ends."

Barricade growls wordlessly in frustration but doesn't stop trying to get free and true to his word, the Autobot doesn't stop spanking him.  _It hurts more and more._  Everybot is watching, seeing him so weak he can't even defend himself against being held over a mech's knee and spanked. His aft is starting to feel hot and raw. The Saleen flails uselessly but is slowly realizing that he really can't free himself from the mech's grip, can't stop this by a physical effort.  _There's no way to stop this but complying._  The realization makes him grind his denta in helpless anger.

He stops flailing and goes limp, offlining his optics, as humiliated by giving in as he is by the punishment itself.

"Good little slave." The Autobot praises him condescendingly and soothes his sore aft with soft strokes.

His thumb slides through Barricade's valve slit and the Interceptor grinds his denta in disgust but remains still. Then the digit slips into him, curls forward to rub against sensors he wishes wouldn't respond like they do and he just can't be still anymore.  _Everybot is watching._

" _No_." He growls and renews his struggles.

"You have no right to tell me 'no'. You are  _my property_  to touch and use however I see fit. And I didn't give you permission to speak."

The thumb is pulled out but the relief is short lived when the spanking continues, harder this time.  _It really hurts now._

Barricade slumps again. The Autobot continues with several hard slaps after Barricade gives in. Then he slides his thumb inside again, teasing nodes Barricade didn't even know he had.  _He is going wet and his charge is rising._

The Interceptor hangs there over the Autobot's knee, anger turning into pure mortification. He has never felt so fragging  _helpless_  before. His  _owner_  is fingering him, primes him for interface with an audience of both Bots and Cons and his frame is  _responding_  and he can do  _nothing_  but accept it or prolong his own humiliation. He wants to cry, but manages to hold back.  _That would be even more humiliating_.

The Autobot uses his digits on Barricade's anterior node and rubs his thumb inside the Mustang's valve and Barricade can do nothing about his rising charge, or his cooling fans spinning quicker as a testament that the mech he's coming to hate more and more successfully is making his frame aroused, no matter how disgusted he is by the mech himself.  _At least he manages to keep from bucking and grinding, though he can't stop his hips from twitching when the mech hits particularly sensitive spots._

"I control  _everything_. I can teek in your field how embarrassed you are by this. I bet you wish you could stop yourself from dripping all over my lap but  _still_ your frame obeys  _me_  and not you, still you're getting wetter than a well trained pleasuredrone."

The Saleen overloads with a quiet moan and a stunted jerk of his hips, but it's enough to show anybot watching that he did indeed overload. Barricade hangs there in humiliated defeat.

"You can get up now,  _slave._  You're such a  _good_  little pleasurebot. See how easy it gets when you comply?" The Autobot praises him mockingly, stroking his aft.

Barricade almost talks back. He's a proud mech and it's almost reflexive to not take that sort of slag. He offlines his vocalizer at the last moment.  _The Autobot is probably baiting him to get a reason to do something worse._

He stands from his humiliating position over the mech's lap and realizes just how many are watching. The Saleen stares at the floor, unable to meet the optics of any of his former comrades. The Autobot pats his helm condescendingly.

Then he slides his digits over Barricade's shoulderwing.

"These glyphs, what language is it and what does it say?" He asks the guard.

"An Earth language. Means 'To punish and enslave.'" The guard says.

The Autobot barks a laugh.

"That's rich. It's as if he knew he's made for this. A  _manual_  for how to treat him. Who in the pit would  _want_  to write something like that on themselves?" He turns to Barricade, smirking. "You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?" He says loudly, intending everyone to hear.

Barricade doesn't answer. He's smart enough to bide his time. Resisting in public would be asking for more humiliation. He can show his true colors at a better opportunity.

"You should always answer me when I speak to you, but we'll work on that later. I have nothing if not time."

And with that, he's led outside and into a ground transport and taken away to his new functioning.  _Enslaved._  It leaves a bitter taste in his intake. 

Little does he know how very badly he is going to be  _punished_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barricade is getting a taste of what his new owner is like.

"You see this line in the floor? That's the border to  _your_  corner. You're not allowed to cross it without me telling you to." 

The Autobot points to the line. Barricade sneers. He have no plans to obey that  _ridiculous_  rule.  _What does the mech think he is, a_ cyberhound _?_

He still steps into the corner, though slowly, insolently, and faces the mech.

"The rules here are really simple. You do as you are told when given an order, you speak only when spoken to and answer as shortly as you can, show respect by not making optic contact and you will adress me as Master."

_Yeah, right._

Barricade stares defiantly at the mech. The Autobot smirks slowly and raises an optical ridge.

"Attitude. Don't worry, we'll get that adjusted in due time, and I will find amusement in the process of adjusting it. Anyway, stay in your corner,  _slave_."

With that, the Autobot disappears deeper into his apartment. Barricade waits for a few minutes, until he hears the solvent running in the washracks. He leaves the corner and takes a quick tour around the apartment to orientate himself. He finds the cooler and nabs a cube before throwing himself on the couch. The Interceptor downs the cube quickly, it's high quality mid grade, settling smoothly in his tank. He stretches out and wiggles deeper into the couch.

The earlier humiliation aside, this is the most comfortable he's been for a while. He's better fueled than since before his surrender and the couch is soft. Listening closely, he hears the Autobot get out of the washracks and go into another room but he doesn't seem to come back.

Not like it matters. So, Barricade isn't obeying, what's he going to do about it?  _Spank_  the Interceptor? Make him overload?  _Please_. There's nobody here to see it and the humiliation was the worst part.  _His aft_ _still_  is _a bit sore, though..._

When the Autobot doesn't return, Barricade slips into recharge. It was close to impossible to recharge on the cold floor in jail and he really needs the rest. The couch is warm and comfortable and his tank is holding descent levels for once, making him relax quickly.

He yelps in shocked pain when he's lifted from the couch with a cruel grip on his shoulder-wing and the plating on his hip and dropped from hip-height to the floor. The Saleen lands heavily on his side, a couple of plates on his torso being bent.

"What the _frag_?! You fragger..." He growls, starting to get up, but his protests are cut off when the Autobot lands a hard kick to his ventral plating. The Interceptor falls back on his side.

"Shut up, you glitch. I didn't tell you to speak..." 

_Another hard kick._  

Barricade processor is reeling, because while the guards in prison didn't think twice about dropping a rowdy Con with a shock from the collar, this is something else entirely. The Autobot has kicked the vents out of him and the Interceptor isn't fighting back at the moment.  _He's preoccupied with trying to curl up around the pain, to block the kicks._

"...I didn't tell you to recharge on the couch..."

_Another kick._

"Oh, and look at that. You stole  _energon_." 

The Autobot grabs his shoulder-wings and drags him across the floor. Barricade screams. His shoulder-wings are sensitive and it hurts really bad when the brackets at the base are strained like this. He's dragged into the washracks and left on his front on the floor, still trying to catch his vents, while the Bot gets something. 

His audial horn is yanked harshly, his helm tilted back, and his startled yelp opens his intake, allowing the mech to jam a ring gag in there. Barricade attempts to get it out with his servos, but the mech straddles his back and easily wrenches the Interceptor's arms back and down along his sides. The Autobot pins them with his legs.

"That energon wasn't yours to take, so you won't get to keep it."

The blank that Barricade's processor pulls on what the Bot is talking about is all too soon traded for an ugly realization when the mech jams his digits into Barricade's open intake. The Saleen thrashes under the heavier mech, tries to shake his helm from side to side, but a punishing grip on his audial fin steadies him. The Autobot teases the tubing at the back of the Interceptor's intake and Barricade retches, his tank spasming violently several times before he purges.

The tubing burns with half-processed energon and he dry heaves several times, oral lubricant hanging in viscous threads from his chin. He feels drained of energy from the purging and the struggle and his abdomen hurts from the kicks he has taken.

The Autobot pulls the gag out of his intake uncarefully, the metal clanging painfully against his denta. Barricade's arms are grabbed and he's hoisted to his pedes and pushed out of the washracks and back to his corner. Cuffs slip into place around his wrists and then his pedes are kicked out from under him, the Mustang landing heavily on the same side as before. A pede on his shoulder pushes him over on his front and then the mech grabs his right ankle-strut, twists his leg up and cuffs it to his wrists, behind his back.

"Hey, what the fuck are you  _doing_ , you piece of  _slag_! You have no right..."

"You are my _property_ , Barricade. I have every right to do what I want to you. And I _still_  haven't given you permission to speak."

Barricade's answer is cut off when the Autobot cuts a wire to his vocalizer, leaving the Interceptor mute. He grinds his denta.  _This isn't right! He's still a_ mech.  _This can't be legal._  His other leg is wrenched up and attached, effectively immobilizing him.  _Hog tied, that's what the humans called it, his processor_  oh, so,helpfully _supplies him._ He thrashes, trying to break the restraints but it's impossible.

"As I clearly can't even trust you to follow the simple order to stay in your corner,  _you_  have forced me to restrain you until I have time to teach you the rules properly."

_How long is he supposed to stay like this?! It really is uncomfortable..._

"And since you can't keep your vocalizer shut and I'm really looking forward to a good night's recharge, your vocalizer will remain offline until I decide to online it again."

Barricade is outraged but can't do anything about it, can't even snarl insults at the bastard. He squirms but it's futile.

The Autobot chuckles. "You really are an entertaining little slave. So far, I've got great value for my money."

Barricade seethes silently.  _Then the Autobot bends down and starts touching him_. Barricade struggles furiously, hates how the mech caresses his plating, dips through seams to fondle protoform. When sharp talons slide against the protoform at the base of his shoulder-wing, sore from the earlier mechhandling, he stills out of instinct.

"Such an interesting frame feature. I bet you are  _really_ sensitive here..."

The talons dig into his protoform, pulling at the cables holding the wing. Barricade thrashes under the cruel touch, screaming without a single sound leaving his disconnected vocalizer.

"Look at that, I was right."

The mech twists a sensor relay and Barricade writhes in pure agony. The touch turns gentle, petting the relay soothingly. Barricade doesn't relax until the talons are removed but then he tenses even more when they're pushed into his dry valve. _This can't be happening. It's a bad defrag._  But the very real pain in his shoulder-wings and ventral plating, the discomfort from his arms and legs tell him that it's true.

_He's so fucking helpless._  The Interceptor just want it to be over, wishes the Autobot would stop touching him, want to be released from this increasingly uncomfortable pose and curl up and shut the world outside for a while.

"Unsealed little slut. You're still quite tight. Got some pleasurebot coding tweak to remain that way? Automatically retightening calipers? I'm looking forward to having my spike inside you."

_It's so revolting, so degrading. He has had his valve taken a total of three times by one single mech and that's all he has ever interfaced like that. And here this unattractive, disgusting, old bastard is_ _making him feel like the base transport who everyone has had a go with,_ _talking about_ taking _him. Barricade shudders in disgust as the digits slides slowly in and out of him, lazily nudging nodes inside him._

"I can feel the revulsion in your field, but  _still_  your gash is going wet and supple." 

Mortification bleeds into Barricade's field, he's sure of it when he sees the aroused smile on the Autobot's face, the mech's bright optics.

"You'll be a  _perfect_  entertainment, your frame is so  _willing_  while your mind is not. It will be  _glorious_ when you come crawling to me,  _begging_  to be spiked, even though you  _hate_  it."

_The bastard is delusional. There's just no way Barricade is going to beg the ugly aftport to spike him._

"Well, it's been a long day. I'm going to recharge. Good night, slave."

The Autobot stands and Barricade's tank is sinking rapidly as he realizes that he will indeed be left like this.

_There's no way he'll be able to recharge and he's low on energon too, so he really_ needs _a little rest._

But recharge won't come. Instead, he lies there, on his kicked sore ventral plating, feeling his arms and pedes go numb, the pain and humiliation of the day replaying in his processor over and over.

 

 

*****

 

 

The Autobot isn't in a rush to let the Interceptor up the next morning. He drinks his morning energon calmly, watches the news and throws glances at Barricade now and then when the Interceptor wriggles to try to relieve the aches his position is causing.

_Primus, he's so tired. His fuel gauge is a hairsbreadth above empty._

His _owner_ , and that thought still makes him want to purge, fetches a little box in the refueling room before he comes over to the Interceptor where he lies prone in  _his_  corner.

"Time for some training!" He says cheerily and starts to unbuckle Barricade's restraints.

The Saleen groans silently in relief when he finally is able to move again.

"Sit on your knees in front of me." The mech says.

Barricade doesn't really see a point in disobeying that order, he's just happy to get up from the floor, to be allowed to relieve his sore ventral plating from his weight. He's slow and clumsy, arms and legs numb, but he does it, resting his aft on the heels of his pedes. 

"Good! As a reward, I will let you have some fuel." The Autobot says, reconnecting Barricade's vocalizer.

An energon gel treat is held out for him. It's humiliating,  _degrading_ , to be forced to eat out of the mech's servo, but he's really low on fuel and the treat smells divine. He takes it between his denta and eats it quickly. The taste is sweet and it sticks to his glossa in a wonderful way. Another one is held out and he takes that too. It's concentrated energon and his levels rises quickly.

The next one, the Autobot squeezes in his servo, getting it smeared all over his palm and digits.

"Lick it off."

It's demeaning, but he doesn't know when he will be fueled the next time, so temporarily, he swallows his pride and starts lapping at the held out servo, trying to ignore the bright optics of the Autobot following every stroke of his glossa.

When the mech's servo is sufficiently clean, he smears the next gel on one digit.

"Fold those back." He taps Barricade's denta with a clean digit.

Barricade hesitates. He has sharp denta for a reason and has had for a long time. He feels naked and vulnerable with them folded down. But still, he does it. _He needs fuel._

The digit is held out in front of him.

"Suck it."

He hesitantly opens his intake, letting the digit slide inside over his glossa. It's so very humiliating, because while it is just a digit, and he does it to get fuel into his systems, there's no denying the insinuation of spikesucking in the action.

The thought riles him, his shame for being so compliant for just a few morcels of fuel turns to anger.  _He isn't going to make it this easy for the Unicron damned Autobot._

He bites down, denta unfolding too slow to get a real grip, his collar buzzing with a warning charge for his intent. Even his smoother plates has some force behind the bite, but the Autobot is probably ready for it because he quickly manages to get free and shakes his servo in mostly mock pain. Barricade still can't help but smirk smugly.  _He isn't an easily broken little pet. He can deal with a little punishment to keep his pride._

When the mech turns back to him, he isn't livid, annoyed or wary, like Barricade had anticipated.  _He's smiling._  A nasty smile, full of unharnessed hunger, and it makes Barricade uneasy.  _He doesn't really know the Bot that well and he doesn't seem to react like Barricade anticipates_ _._  That's worrying. Barricade is an Interrogator, reading mechs is something he's considered good at.

"I was hoping you'd try something stupid."

Barricade is backhanded so hard and so suddenly, his helm snaps to the side before he clatters to the floor, audials ringing and his optic feed glitching.

"If you bite the servo that feeds you, you  _obviously_ don't need the energon bad enough."

The mech fiddles with something at the base of his shoulder-wings while Barricade tries to reboot his optics a second time. Then horrible pain lances through his sensor net with his wings as the epicenter. Barricade screams before he manages to shut his vocalizer.  _He's not going to give the bastard the satisfaction._

"Get up."

He scrambles to obey as it feels like his shoulder-wings are being torn off upwards, tries to relieve the pressure on the sensitive components. The mech hooks something to a ring in the ceiling. Barricade looks up, optical feed finally back to normal.  _Thin wires._  Really thin wires, looped around the base of his wings, pulled tightly enough for him to not be able to remove them but not enough to hurt as long as he is standing like he does now.

"As a punishment, and a valuable lesson, you will stand here until I deem you worth refueling. You are allowed to beg for mercy, nothing more."

Barricade sneers at the mech, still defiant.  _Forcing him to stand as a punishment? It's ridiculous._  Sure, he still is underrecharged and underfueled, but it's just _standing._

"Since you're still disrespectful, I'll give you a little taste of what is coming when you start to get  _really_ tired."

His leg is shocked with a prod and gives in, leaving him hanging by the wires. The loops tighten and it feels like his wings are being pinched off with a razor wire. He can't stop himself from screaming. The Autobot looks amused. 

"You know, I thought you were a  _tough_  mech. Yet here you are, screaming like a little youngling from just being forced to stand. And you're supposed to be a warrior. It's ludicrous."

Barricade manages to shut his vocalizer, still trying to get his leg to work. He regains his balance and manages to get his other pede under him enough to take all his weight, relieving his wings from the wires cutting into the cables and brackets at the base. Energon trickles down his back where the wires cut in. He's venting hard, trying to get himself under control again.

The mech steps closer and Barricade tenses when the Autobot toys with the seams of his plating, slips his talons under his plating and caresses his protoform.  _As if it's his right._ Those unwanted digits tweak his sensors, strokes his protoform and rubs his wiring carefully, soft touches that still are so vile because they are entirely unwanted.

"Good little slave. You should accept all of my touches." The mech praises him, patting his aft.

Barricade stares at the floor, disgusted. He doesn't say anything to protest, doesn't move because that will inevitably lead to more pain in his wings and he doesn't want more of that right now, doesn't want to give the mech the satisfaction of hearing him screaming.  _He needs to regain control of himself first._ Then _he will resist again._

*****

 

 

_The Autobot leaves._

He makes a point to touch Barricade  _everywhere_ again and praise him for being such a good little slave over and over. The Interceptor suspects that he wants to force a reaction out of Barricade to get a reason to shock his leg again, but the Decepticon manages to bite his glossa and considers himself the winner in that battle of minds.

Then the mech "has places to be" and goes out, leaving Barricade to stand in his corner without anything to occupy his processor except his current pitiful situation.

It's getting late, going dark outside, and he's so very tired from lack of recharge and he's quickly burning through the small amount of fuel he got before. Two times so far, he has started to slump, falling into recharge, just to be torn out of it by excruciating pain from his wings when the wires tighten.

_He's so fragging helpless._ And his current predicament invites thoughts he'd rather not have, suspicions of what his functioning is becoming. The mech who bought him has already told him that he's going to 'face Barricade, as repulsive as the Saleen finds that, and his constant groping of Barricade's private parts seems like proof for that. But this punishment, just like the last one when he was hog tied, paints an even grimmer picture. The mech isn't above using discomfort to get his way.

And right now, Barricade is ready to give in for the moment, to make a small concession.  _For now_. He can ask nicely to get down. There will be better opportunities to resist.  _When his shoulder-wings aren't at risk of being cut off in an unsavory way._

But the Autobot isn't here, so Barricade can't ask. Instead, he just stands there, in  _his_  corner, in the dark. He tries to reach  where the wires are looped around his wings, but he can't. Then he tries to pull at the wires to get them loose from the ceiling. They're too thin to allow him to pull hard, cutting into his servos.

Barricade makes a face.  _No wonder it hurts so bad when his knees buckles from exhaustion and he's hanged by the wires._

It's a repeat cycle; exhaustion setting in, falling into recharge, get his shoulder-wings cut when he slumps and startling awake by the pain, staying online a while longer... Then it starts over again.

The first light of dawn is coloring the sky outside when the Autobot barges through the door, clearly overcharged.

"Let me down." Barricade says hurriedly.

The mech comes up to him, assessing the Decepticon.

"Why should I? I said you were allowed to  _beg_. All I hear is an insolent demand, all I see is you disrespecting me by making optic contact."

Barricade grinds his denta. Stares back defiantly for a few long seconds before lowering his gaze.

" _Please_ , let me down."

"Please, let me down..." The Autobot makes a gesture to indicate that something is missing in the sentence.

Barricade considers not doing it. It feels too vile in his intake.  _But he's so fragging tired._

"Please, let me down... _Master."_  He grinds out.

" _Now_  we're getting somewhere. Are you going to be a good little slave? Behave and obey?"

"Yes, Master." He spits, hates to say it but he tells himself that just because he tells the Autobot that  _right now,_  to get down, that doesn't mean that he is giving up completely.

"Touch yourself."

"What?!" Barricade can't help himself, his helm snaps up and he stares at the mech in disbelief.

"Touch yourself. You know,  _masturbate._  I want to see you make yourself overload." As if to demonstrate, the Autobot pressurizes his spike and starts stroking himself.

Barricade works his intake without saying anything, deference completely forgotten.  _Is he serious?_   _He is serious, the disgusting, fucking pervert._  There's no way Barricade is going to do  _that_.

"No." He grinds out, disgusted by the bastard jerking off in front of him.

_It really is adding insult to injury that Barricade is unable to stroke his own spike, the component locked away and out of his control since he was booked in prison. The mech knows this and obviously wants Barricade to finger his valve._

"No? Then you're not getting down..." The Autobot shrugs, as if he couldn't care less, and keeps stroking himself, pre-transfluid starting to weep from the tip of his spike.

Barricade doesn't answer, he just stares hatefully at the repulsive mech.

"I will address this disrespect you're constantly showing me tomorrow,  _slave._  I will teach you proper behavior." The mech says with a moan and an aroused smile, as if the prospect of that is exciting. 

The Autobot overloads, sticky ropes of transfluid landing on Barricade's ventral- and pelvic plating. The Saleen is furious, mortified and disgusted in equal amounts.

"You filthy _creep_!" He snarls and just can't stop himself from giving back as good as he can.  _He spits on the mech, hits him in the chestplates with a glob of oral lubricant._

"You  _really_  shouldn't have done that, but I'm quite satisfied and tired right now, so you will make up for that  _tomorrow_. For now,  _this_  will do." 

He kicks Barricade's pede out from under him and the Interceptor loses his balance. The wires catches him from falling in that agonizing way and he grunts, determined not to scream. The Autobot watches him grimace and pant to get through the agony and regain his footing with a smirk.

"I'll see you in the morning, slave." 

With that, he disconnects Barricade's vocalizer again and heads for his berthroom, leaving the exhausted Decepticon standing in his corner, energon dripping down his back, transfluid clinging to his plating.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barricade have "choices" to make, and learns more of what his owner considers fair punishment.

He's desperate when his owner finally emerges from his berthroom the next morning. But with his vocalizer still disconnected, he can't beg to get down.

The mech grabs a medgrade energon and lays down on the couch, adding insult to injury by doing the two things Barricade wants more than anything right then without even sparing the Saleen a glance.

It feels like an eternity, watching the Autobot slip in and out of recharge, waiting for him to acknowledge the increasingly miserable Mustang in the corner. He nods off several times himself, just to be torn out of it immediately by the fragging wires.

It must be late afternoon when the mech finally comes to stand in front of him, reconnecting his vocalizer.

"Are you done with this stubbornness?" The Autobot asks, clearly amused.

"Yes.  _Master_." Barricade mumbles, still hating to call the Autobot that.

_It's just temporary, to get down. He'll resist again when he has rested._

"Good. You see, this works two ways: you give me something I want, you get something. You respect me and follow my rules, I treat you fairly. If you disobey or behave badly or cause trouble, I will punish you fairly."

_As if there's something_ fair _about starving a mech and keeping him from recharging._

He still nods his understanding, because he wants to get down from this position.

"'Yes, Master' is the correct answer. I want you to answer me like that when I address you. Short and respectful."

"Yes, Master." Barricade says, voice low.

He keeps his optics on the floor. The mech might take it for deference, but in reality, he just doesn't want to accidentally show how resentful he is.

"Good. Now, let's try this again; touch yourself. When you have overloaded, I will let you down."

The Interceptor forces his servos to start moving, trails his digits hesitantly over the protoform under the plating on his thighs, slides his servos upward in a movement he hopes is seductive. It's humiliating and not at all arousing with the Autobot's bright optics following his movements. He offlines his optics, trying to pretend he's somewhere else, somewhere  _alone_.

"Online your optics. I want you to look at  _me_  when you finger your little gash." The mech says crudely.

_He's never going to be able to overload like that_. He still does as he's told, looking at the repulsive mech staring at him with a field heavy with arousal.

The Interceptor slides his digits over his node, traces the rim of his valve and wants to offline from humiliation. He desperately tries to come up with a memory, a fantasy, to drown out the sight of the Autobot but he can't. He isn't much of a valve-mech, the few times he tried it were mediocre, and he definitely has never tried to put on a show for a lover before, something that makes this feel even more vile and dirty.

Barricade dips his talons shallowly into his valve, tries to find nodes to speed things up and he is reminded of how his owner did when he easily fingered Barricade to overload in public. It's a disgusting reminder of unwanted digits inside him, but when he experimentally curls his digits forward, his valve responds. His hips twitches into his servo. Shutting the feed from his optics, leaving them online for the Autobot to see but leaving himself in the dark, he quickly concocts a fantasy of a faceless raceframe touching him like this.

The nodes stimulate his lubrication and he feels it dripping into the palm of his servo until it overflows. Barricade feels his faceplates burn with shame when it happens, but still a mewl escapes his vocalizer.

"Pump your digits in and out. I want to  _hear_  that wetness." The Autobot says, reminding him of where he is, who is watching.

The sound is indecent and mortifying, but he still hits nodes inside and tries to let the pleasure drown out everything else. With a few quick rubs of his anterior node, he finally overloads with a moan, hips bucking.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

_It was awful. He feels like he has been violated, but he did it to himself, so it's very confusing._

He restarts the feed from his optics when the Autobot grabs his wriststruts, pulling his servos away and sliding his own digits into Barricade's wet and twitching valve instead.  _The Saleen hates it._

The mech pulls his digits out and wraps his arms around Barricade, and for a horrifying moment, he expects to be lifted and fragged, but then he feels servos on the base of his shoulderwings, releasing the wires and he exvents in relief when the Autobot steps back.

"Kneel." 

He's so tired, he's almost happy to sink to his knees, daring to plant his aft on his pedes to really rest. 

The Autobot strokes his helm, gentle touches that still feels degrading because there's so much submission in Barricade's pose, the way he allows the mech to touch him as if he was a mechanimal. The servo slides down to Barricade's cheek, tilting his helm back.

"Open up." A tap on the side of his intake.

The Mustang hesitantly obeys, barely opening.

"More."

He opens wider.

"Good mech."

The servo on his cheek caresses up to his audial fin, rubbing the sensitive plating.

"Stick your glossa out."

He doesn't like where this is going, but so far, he hasn't been hurt.  _And he's still too tired to put up a fight about these debasing yet simple commands._ So he does it.

The Autobots interface panel slides away and his spike pressurizes. Barricade tries to throw himself backwards but the mech's servos on his helm turns harsh, holding him in place. The head of the spike touches his glossa right before he pulls it back into his intake.

"No! Let go of me, you fragger!" Barricade growls, struggling against the painful hold on his audial fin.

The Autobot does, but before he even gets a chance to think about why, he's slapped so hard, his helm snaps to the side. His audial fin is grabbed again.

"One: I didn't give you permission to speak and Two: you  _still_  have no right to tell me what to do and what not to. Believe me, you  _will_  be punished for your disobedience later. Right now though, you are going to sit nicely, stick your glossa out, like a  _good_  little whore, and take whatever I give you. Or you're going back into that nice little wire harness. It really is  _your_ choice." He smirks nastily, not at all angry, just amused.

_It really isn't Barricade's choice, because it is no choice at all, but he isn't going to say that and risk getting strung up until he falls into stasis and has his shoulder-wings gruesomely cut off._

So he stretches up, sits all nicely, and obediently sticks his glossa out.  _Like a good little whore._

The spike feels like it weighs thousands of pounds on his glossa.  _Or maybe that's just the weight of his shame?_

The Autobot moves slowly, just the underside of the tip of his spike rubbing against Barricade's glossa, keeps it outside the Interceptor's mouth to be able to see. He has his servos on the Interceptor's helm, the grip loose but still a very dominant gesture.  _It's all so very humiliating._

" _That's_  it. Such a good little slave." The Autobot praises him.

Barricade feels like purging, but luckily, he's probably empty enough to not be able to. Pre-transfluid gets smeared on his glossa and it's bitter and salty and sticky in a disgustingly slick way. The Interceptor feels like crying when the mech strokes his audial fin with a soft touch befitting a lover. The Autobot's optics are bright with arousal, glued to his spike rubbing against Barricade's glossa. 

"I'm recording this, you know. So I can watch you sit here, subservient and eagerly waiting for my spike whenever I want. I should show your old friends what a spike-licking little slut you are. Or maybe they already know?"

Barricade can feel his faceplates burn with a mix of rage and humiliation and he whines in disgust, but he doesn't take the bait, doesn't protest.  _He doesn't want to be strung up again. He can resist later._

The hydraulics to his jaw is starting to ache by keeping his intake open but he tries to ignore it, tries to think of  _anything_  but the position he's in.

Then the Autobot suddenly overloads, transfluid running along Barricade's glossa, spurting to fill his intake, dribbling out to drip from his chin and the Mustang can't stop himself from rearing back from the repulsive stream of fluid. The servo on his audial tightens and locks him in place and the Interceptor closes his intake instinctively, causing the last spurts to land across his face.

The mech lets go of him with a satisfied smirk, probably teeking the disgust and humiliation in the Decepticon's EM field.

Barricade keels forward to lean on his servos, gagging, and spits the fluid in his intake out to form a disgusting puddle on the floor.

He's kicked in the ventral plating, knocking the vents out of him. While he's still heaving, the mech grabs his arms and pulls him up, locking cuffs around his wriststruts.

"Hey, what are you..." He wheezes.

"Shut your vocalizer. This is your punishment." The mech says. He's still not angry. In fact, he seems almost  _pleased_.

"But I did what you said!" Barricade defends himself, going slightly anxious.

_He's too fragging low on energy to handle standing up anymore._

"I told you I'd punish you later for talking without permission,  _just like you're doing now_ , and for your continuous disrespect. And you  _really_  shouldn't have spit that out. You should always take whatever I gracefully offer you and be thankful for it."

_It isn't fair. He didn't even know what to expect, wasn't prepared. He's getting angry by the way this mech treats him._

The cuffs are chained to the ceiling and the chains are pulled tight to stretch his arms up and to the side. The Autobot walks over to a locked cabinet and opens it, brings something when he comes back to stand in front of Barricade. He drops something on the floor behind him and takes out a syringe. Barricade tenses up when the needle slips into a line in his arm, an emergency field ration magnetizing to the backside of one of his plates. He feels the energon course through his lines, much needed energy.

"You're going to need that." The mech bends down and picks up the thing he dropped.

_An energon whip._

"Really? You think I haven't been whipped before? I could take it when _Megatron_ doled out punishments." Barricade sneers at him, the rush of energon putting some fight back in him. 

The smirk that stretches the Autobot's intake is dark amusement and his field teeks of a hungry sadism that gives Barricade pause.

"Oh, I bet you  _have_  been punished before, probably for both insubordination but mainly for _failure_. But  _Megatron_  was a dumb brute. While he spent his time learning to use an axe and a gun, I perfected my technique with this. I consider it... an  _art._ " The whip hums to life.

The Saleen spits at the floor in defiance and stares the mech in the optics.  _He's not going to break from just a flogging._

"That's another five lashes." The Autobot says calmly.

Barricade's optics brighten in alarm. 

"Five?! For what?"

"For spitting on the floor and staring at me. And you just earned yourself another five for speaking without permission."

He wants to ask how many he's going to get, but doesn't want to risk another five. The question must've leaked into his field.

"You're up to forty-five at this point."

_Forty-five! The Decepticons hade a maximum of_ ten _. His spark is spinning in panic and he tugs on his restraints, wanting to get out of there._

"Because it's your first time, I'll be lenient. I'd make you count each lash but I'm not even sure you will be conscious in the end, so that just wouldn't be fair."

He rounds Barricade and the Mustang tenses, readying himself for the first lash.

It lands across his upper back, hurts as bad as what he's experienced before but not worse.  _Just forty-four more._

The next one lands across his shoulderwing and he grunts and jerks in his chains.  _He can take this._

Across his lower back is even worse, but he bites his glossa and manages to stay silent.

The back of his thigh has him jerking violently.  _The Decepticons kept their lashes to the back only. This hurt like the pit._

"My wrist is warmed up now, so I can finally get started." There's a smirk in the Autobot's voice.

The whip snakes under the plating on the side of his torso and Barricade feels his protoform splitting. He pants desperately.  _It's excruciating, not like any other lashing he's ever had._

_He feels plating split with the force behind some of the snaps, it repeatedly gets under his plating to split his sensitive protoform._

He makes it to 12 lashes with nothing more than grunting and panting. Then it lands at the base of his shoulder-wing, on sensitive cables and brackets already damaged by the wires and he howls in agony, knees buckling to leave him hanging by the chains around his wrist-struts.

The Autobot pauses, long enough for Barricade to think that he's satisfied with the reaction, that he's going to stop now that Barricade has broken and screamed.

"I got a little carried away, I think. I need to savor this." The Autobot muses.

When Barricade stands of his own power again, the next lash lands under the plating on his aft. He can't stop another agonized howl from leaving his vocalizer.

The mech pauses again, just long enough for Barricade to regain some semblance of control of himself. Then he manages to wrap the whip around the Interceptor, the tip landing on his ventral plating and Barricade's scream rises in pitch.

The Autobot continues like this, pausing enough for Barricade to not still be overwhelmed by the pain of the last lash when the next one lands. The Saleen stops counting at 18 lashes, can't focus on anything but the pain, the energon running down his frame. He slumps a few lashes later, hanging by his arms, unable to stand.

When a lash snakes around his hip, searing the juncture of his hip, dangerously close to his array, the Interceptor starts dry heaving. Oral lubricant is hanging in threads from his chin as his tank convulses uselessly, empty as it is.

It isn't long after that, he's starting to slip into a stasis like reboot. The volume of his audials seems to be turned down, his optical feed is going blotchy. Two optics have already shut down. Then everything goes black.

 

*****

 

 

 

The Saleen reboots with a scream as cold solvent is dumped over him. He flails in confusion, wailing because his entire frame seems to have caught fire, and every movement hurts.

He scrabbles blindly backwards, confused and still just halfway through the reboot of his scrambled systems. Barricade hits the corner with his back and cries out as the impact seems to cut him everywhere.

He finds the Autobot smirking at him.

"Finally back from your little nap! I thought I might just clean your wounds. Turn around."

He's cornered and can't go anywhere but Barricade doesn't want to leave his back open like that to the mech. 

"Don't make me punish you again..."

He obeys, because he can't take another flogging like that, not now. The Mustang sits on his pedes and leans his forehelm against the wall to steady himself as his owner showers him with solvent. It burns like pitfire in his wounds. Then the mech starts scrubbing his wounds with a brush and that is pure agony. The Interceptor can't help his whining and whimpering.

" _Please_! No more. I..." His pleading breaks off in a hiss when the base of his shoulderwing is targeted.

"Are you going to be good? Obedient?"

"Yes!"  _Anything to stop the pain._  " _Master_! Yes, Master!" He says when he catches his blunder.

"Good little slave." The mech steps back. "Crawl to me."

 _It still is humiliating, but it's the easiest way. For now. Anything to get out of here._  Barricade crawls on all fours, optics on the floor, and comes to a stop in front of the Autobot.

The mech leans down, reaching for his array and Barricade stiffens but doesn't move.  _He has to allow this for now._  Of course the mech starts fingering him. And once again, it's disgusting how his frame reacts. He refuses to rock back against the digits, but can do nothing about how wet he gets, how his valve clenches greedily around those digits.

"Kneel."

He sits up, optics downcast. The sound of plating shifting is enough to know what's coming.

The Autobot's pede is slotted between his spread knees, rubbed against his wet array. Barricade moans when his valve immediately clenches around nothing from the unexpected touch. He's so charged it almost hurts.

His owner snickers.

"Such a needy little whore. You're going to suck my spike, and you  _will_  swallow my transfluid this time.  _Then_  I'll consider you to have learned this lesson."

He rubs his pede against Barricade and the Interceptor gasps even though he's mortified by his frame's responses.

"You can rub yourself against my pede until you overload while you're sucking my spike. Otherwise, you will not be allowed to overload tonight."

A servo caresses his helm to come to a stop on his audial fin, the mech holding it in a loose grip.

Barricade wars with himself but he really has no choice. He feels filthy and cheap when he slowly leans forward and opens his intake, denta folding backwards to lessen the risk of damaging the spike.  _Sure, it would feel good to try to bite it straight off, but he couldn't take more punishment right now and his collar would stop him from doing any real damage anyway._

He wraps his glossa around the Autobot's spike, lets it slide deeper into his intake and feels the grip tighten around his audial.

"Primus, you're _really_  good at this." The mech groans.

Barricade is repulsed, ashamed of being reduced to this. Then the mech rubs him with his pede again and Barricade moans around the spike, hips bucking.

"That's it, little pleasurebot. Take your pleasure in serving your Master."

_He doesn't. His Primus damned frame is just betraying him._

But he can't leave this charge to course through his systems until it will finally dissipate, risking to fry some of his circuits before it finally wears off, and he's pretty sure the Autobot has some creative way to keep him from releasing it as soon as he's left alone for the night, so he swallows his pride and grinds against the pede pressed against his valve.

The mech groans, his spike twitches and Barricade's glossa is covered in pre-transfluid and the Interceptor suddenly wonders if he has to be finished before his owner overloads to be allowed his release.  _Probably. Why would the Autobot supply him with something to rub against when the mech has overloaded?_  He grinds almost frantically, chasing his release.

"Such a needy little slave." His Master chuckles, voice strained.

The Saleen's intake is filled with disgusting fluid when the Autobot's hips stutters and he grabs on to Barricade's helm with both his servos.

Then Barricade finally tips over, hips twitching against his owners pede, overloading as he swallows the transfluid.

"You're such a good little whore." The Autobot praises him. "Come on, we're done here."

He leaves the washracks and Barricade follows him, disgusted and ashamed of himself. 

"Go to your corner and kneel there."

 _He has no strength to fight, too humiliated by what he just did, so he does._  Staring at the floor comes easily, because he really don't want to meet the optics of the mech he just gave a blowjob, the mech who witnessed him overloading as his mouth was filled with transfluid.

"Here. Then you may recharge. I trust that you won't leave your corner and force me to restrain you again?" A small cube of energon is held out for him.

"No, Master." He whispers and takes the cube carefully.

"What do we say when we get something good, something to be _thankful_ for?"

"Thank you, Master." Barricade guesses.

"Good slave."

With that the Autobot leaves him in the corner. Barricade moves to sit, but the lashes on his aft make it too painful. His back is in even worse shape. He can still feel trickles of energon from his wounds, even though the Autobot has taped a few of them shut while Barricade was still unconscious. He drinks the cube quite quickly, too exhausted to kneel like this for long, and then he curls up on his side, trying to keep his weight off as many wounds as possible.

Exhaustion aside, he still stares at the wall for a long time before recharge finds him, hating himself for what he did, his owner and his entire functioning, disgusted with his own frame.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Barricade learns new things about their surrender and interfaces with his owner for the first time.

After a night of recharge, Barricade is back on his game. Giving in like that just isn't his thing, it was a temporary slump to regain some strength to resist.  _The bastard might as well realize that he isn't going to get_ this _Decepticon to become an obedient little pet._

He leaves his corner. The mech seems to be sleeping in and Barricade is bored. He thinks about grabbing a cube, but his levels aren't low enough to be worth it.  _If he's forced to purge again, he'll be even worse off than he's now._

So the Saleen takes a closer look at the apartment instead. And then he gets an idea.

_The mech seems to be kind of obsessive about keeping his home neat and in order._ Everything is placed meticulously at correct angles and distances that almost leaves it looking like a pattern.  _The Interceptor can certainly help out curing that..._

Quietly, as not to wake the Autobot, he  _rearranges_. Datapads are moved and placed haphazardly, hidden behind other things, and he drenches some of them in solvent in the sink by the cooler. He throws the cushions from the couch all over the floor, then he does a double take.  _What is he, an unruly sparkling?! He's a fucking_  Decepticon!

Barricade's talons are still pretty sharp and he cuts into the metal mesh, making the steel wool filling fly  _everywhere._  His collar nicks him with a few warning shocks, but it's so  _worth_ it when he stares at the mess.  _It's going to take the Bot all day to sort it out._  Barricade grins widely for the first time since he surrendered.

He's about to tear the couch apart when his collar has had enough. He's shocked harshly, frame convulsing and vocalizer crackling with pained static. Barricade falls to the floor and then he's sent into reboot.

The Interceptor comes online with a groan, frame still twitching uncontrollably, to stare up at the Autobot. The mech smirks.

"You really are an entertaining mech. What was your plan with this little stunt?"

"I'm not a  _turbopuppy_  you can train." Barricade groans, voice still laced with static.

"Oh, I know  _that_. No turbopuppy could _ever_  suck my spike as well as you do. Though, they _are_  prone to humping their Master's legs if not properly trained... But I'm not into bestiality. You Barricade, are not a turbopuppy. You are a  _pleasurebot._  A  _toy_. _"_

"I'm _not!_ " The Interceptor growls.

"No? Because I seem to recall that you didn't object to sucking my spike."

Barricade doesn't answer because it's true.  _Not that he really had any choice if he wanted to stop the pain, but he didn't protest either..._

The Autobot kicks him and Barricade curls up, frame still not entirely cooperative.

"Always answer me. Did, or did you _not_  object to sucking my spike?"

"I didn't, Master." Barricade wheezes.

"Good little whore. Now, we seem to have a situation here; my home is a mess. You have to be punished for this, of course. Luckily for both of us, I think I have an idea..."

Barricade is dragged back to his corner, wrist-struts quickly cuffed together behind his back and then chained to the ceiling, leaving him bent forward at a ninety degree angle.  _It's uncomfortable_. The Autobot places a spreader bar between the Saleen's ankle-struts, then he comes to stand in front of Barricade. 

"Clearly, you can't handle the amount of fuel and recharge you got. I tried to be nice to you as a reward, and look where that landed me. My home is trashed. You're not getting any energon tonight, of course, but I'm considerate enough to make sure you don't feel too... empty."

He quickly grabs Barricade's jaw and wrenches his intake open. The Mustang is restrained in such a bad position, he can't even try to shake his helm free without risking to lose his balance and be left hanging from his arms in a painful way. The ring gag is jammed in his intake again and magnetized in place.

"Mh. You really look good like this."

The mech circles him, trailing digits along Barricade's plating as he goes. He comes to a stop behind the Interceptor and Barricade tenses. A single digit slides over his node, through the folds of his valve and up to wiggle against his wasteport, the opening clenching shut.

"So many options, so many tempting ideas... I could do anything I want to your frame right now, you know that, right? But I have patience. You will give it all up without objecting eventually."

Barricade growls, but that just results in him drooling through the gag. The Autobot snickers, but whatever he was about to say is cut short as the door chimes.

"Oh, splendid! My cleaning crew."

Barricade's spark spins faster as he's left in the vulnerable position when the Autobot lets three mechs inside. All their optics find him immediately and he whines in fear of what will happen.

"Damn. He tore the couch up really bad."

"Yes, he's still a bit lively. That's why I needed your help." Barricade's owner says.

"What's the deal?"

"Help me put things back in order. And help me train him. He needs to learn that I decide what can and can't be done to him."

"Rules?"

"Touch him anywhere, no fragging his valve or aft tonight. Overload on him or in his intake. I  _did_  promise him he wouldn't go with an empty tank." His owner smirks.

Somebot cackles. "You got it!"

The mechs start cleaning up, throwing away the torn up cushions, rearranging datapads and his masterpiece is quickly going back to the way it was before Barricade got a little inspired. The Decepticon can't help but think that  _maybe_  his small victory wasn't worth his discomfort at the moment. He pointedly tries not to think about how much worse it probably will get.

The first mech comes to stand behind him, staring at his bared array. He lifts the plates on Barricade's aft, touches the lashes on the Saleen's protoform.

"I see you've been a bad little Con before."

The mech kneads Barricade's aft, grabs his hips and the Mustang tenses, because in his position, the grip alludes to interfacing all to much, in spite of his owner's rules. Then the mech lets go of him, just to push his digits into Barricade's valve. The Interceptor shudders in disgust. Then he hears plating shifting and the sound of a servo sliding along a spike.

_It's repulsive_.

The mech starts to touch Barricade's anterior node and his charge surges fast, cooling fans spinning faster. The Saleen whines in disgust, almost sobbing, but he can do nothing to stop himself from overloading even as he feels warm transfluid spurt over his aft and array. He hangs his helm in defeated misery.

"Such a good little pleasurebot, overloading for that."

It's cold comfort that he doesn't have to answer the mech.  _The gag in his mouth makes it impossible._

Then the next mech comes by, sliding a servo along Barricade's chestplates, teasing the seam, and the Decepticon's vents hitches in fear. But nothing more happens, the Autobot just steps in front of him and without preamble, he pressurizes his spike and starts to stroke himself. 

"You better swallow everything, or you're staying there tonight." His owner calls out.

It's so repulsive to be forced to watch up close how the mech strokes himself, pre-transfluid getting smeared along his spike, but Barricade can do nothing about it. The mech overloads, spurts of transfluid landing on Barricade's face and in his mouth and he forces himself to try to swallow even though he wants to purge. The gag makes it hard and some of it runs down his chin.

A condescending pat on his helm is the only acknowledgement he gets, then the Autobot returns to the cleaning of the apartment.

Barricade's owner steps up in front of the uncomfortable Decepticon. His arms are going numb by the pose he's forced into and it strains his legs.

"I guess I should make a deposit too..." His owner turns back to his friends. "Could someone make him overload while I fill him up?"

_Of course someone is hungry for the Interceptor's humiliation._  One if the others comes to stand behind Barricade, a digit sliding through his folds, sticky with transfluid. The Decepticon's hips jerk.

"If you want to get down from there tonight, you really should do this of your own accord." His owner says and removes the gag.

The Autobot holds his spike out in front of the Interceptor. Barricade wars with himself while he moves his jaw to relieve the ache in his joints. He feels the optics of all the mechs on him and he really doesn't want to do it.  _But he can't stay like this all night_. 

The pose is forcing him to strain his entire frame and he's burning through his fuel quickly. When he tires more, he will be left hanging by his arms and that will hurt like hell.

So he opens his mouth and leans forward what little the restraints allow to let the Autobot's spike slide into his intake. 

The gathered mechs laugh. "He's such a willing little slut."

Digits slide into his valve and Barricade whines in disgust.  _He doesn't want another spike in his mouth, more transfluid sliding down into his tank. Doesn't want the digits in his valve, successfully making him charged._

"Oh,  _yes!_  Do that again! The vibrations adds another layer of pleasure, just like your humiliated field, in an absolutely _exquisite_ way." The Autobot groans.

Barricade shuts up, mortified. Sadly, the Autobot doesn't seem disappointed about that. He just starts thrusting slowly, his spike sliding over Barricade's glossa in a repulsive way. Pre-transfluid and oral lubricant is dripping from Barricade's chin, welling out of his intake every time the Autobot pulls out.  _Just like lubricant is dripping from his valve, leaving trails down his thighs._

"Work it with your glossa. I know you're good at this."

The mech holds still and Barricade swirls his glossa, tries to rock back and forth to stimulate the spike just to get it over with as quickly as possible. It makes him rock back on the digits invading him, effectively fucking himself on a servo he really doesn't want anywhere near his frame.

Barricade twitches when he overloads, the movements tearing at his shoulder joints, a moan still escaping him.

Then he's forced to swallow as his intake is filled with transfluid yet again. The Interceptor sees the rise in the level of his tank in his HUD and wants to puke when he thinks about exactly how much cum is in his belly.

But his owner's other friend is stepping closer with a leer, clearly inspired by the show, the one who overloaded all over the Interceptor is stroking his spike, ready for another go and Barricade knows that they're far from done with him.

 

 

*****

 

 

After his rebellion when he tore up the apartment, Barricade's owner has not allowed him to go through an entire cycle of recharge. Barricade has been left in various positions that will make it impossible, and the few times he's allowed to recharge, he only gets a few hours before he's woken up. Whenever he fails, he's whipped or strung up with the wires.

The deepest wounds are taped shut to have any chance at all to heal.  _The mech is skilled with a whip and he is_  brutal. Running on fumes and lack of recharge has left Barricade's self repair almost non-functional.

The Interceptor is exhausted to the point of wanting to cry in misery, so low on fuel, his tank is protesting and the countless lashes in various stages of poorly healing make his entire frame ache.

His owner seems to have changed tactics. There are no repulsive touches to his array, no demands for sexual favors and the Saleen is almost starting to wish there was.  _Then he would have a chance to avoid punishment_. 

It really isn't punishment anymore.  _It is torture, plain and simple_. His owner enjoys it and Barricade suspects it's just a way to make Barricade afraid of him, to instill so much fear of what the mech can do to him, he won't resist anymore.

_It's working._

He just wants to get out of his current position, wants the pain to  _stop_.  _At any price._  

He's hog tied again, but this time he's forced to kneel awkwardly on a piece of pipe to make it more painful. To make him unable to sit back and take some weight off his knees, he's wearing the wires around his shoulder-wings again.  _He's exhausted_. He has been here since last night and what infraction he did to deserve it, he isn't even sure of.

The Autobot finally enters the living room.

" _Please_ , Master! What did I do to deserve this? I need to know so I won't do it again." Barricade begs. 

His owner smirks. "Why do you still even bother to ask? You have to learn to accept what I do to you and just wait until it's done, because that up to me to decide. But I feel lenient, so I will give you an answer this time: You're a  _Con_. You tried to make most Cybertronians' lives worse. Isn't _that_ enough?"

"I... Yes, Master." He says, spark sinking.

Then he really  _can't_  avoid this.  _It's just about his owner's amusement and Barricade's misery._

"You just have to learn to accept that you're nothing but a source of entertainment. A  _pleasurebot_. It's all you're good for." His Master says.

Barricade grinds his denta.

"But,  _Master_ , I'm a  _soldier_ , a  _good_  soldier. I could be more useful than this!"

The Autobot snorts and raises an optical ridge.

"A good soldier, you say. Yet still you lost the war?"

"Yes, Master." Barricade mumbles.

"You know, I find it rather interesting. You all followed Megatron, like unquestioning little turbopuppies. Well, except Starscream, the traitorous glitch who constantly tried to usurp him. But the rest of you blindly followed him and look where it landed you all. You must be so  _proud_  of your smart choice to follow him. It really tells something about how good a processor you have..." His owner mocks him.

_He hates to admit it, even to himself, but Barricade wishes he had defected a long time ago._

"But there are more interesting details still. Starscream, the conniving glitch known for being hungry for power and  _not_  being loyal, was quickly apprehended when Prime had offlined Megatron. That would leave the rest of you running around like cyberchickens with their helms chopped off, yes?"

"Yes, Master." Barricade says through clenched denta, just to appease his owner.  _They're not stupid drones._

"And then Starscream was quickly swept up by the Prime himself at the auction."

Barricade's helm snaps up to stare disbelievingly at the Autobot.  _It can't be true._

"It sure would be a wonderfully devious plan: the second in command of the Decepticons, handing your leader to his arch enemy on a silver platter along with the rest of you  _grunts_ , and then he moves in with the true leader of Cybertron, all comfortable up in the towers while the rest of you  _rot_."

"Starscream wouldn't do that. He would never help the Prime." Barricade protests, too shocked to remember his place. 

_The Seeker really_ could _do that just to gain power._

"No? Just think about it, Barricade. You're all  _Decepticons_. It's in the name, really. He could very well have bedded the Prime a long time ago and they could've planned all of this together. It's _perfect_ , really."

"Optimus would never be able to do it. He's a horrible liar." Barricade says, but he hears how weak he sounds.

"Oh, but he's said to have preached about freedom for all sentient beings too, yet here you are, Barricade, nothing but a  _slave_. Handed over to be  _auctioned_  off, like a toy, a possession, by none other than the Prime himself." His owner smirks nastily. "Or maybe  _you_  have not reached a level where you could be considered sentient?"

Barricade's tank is sinking.  _It's true. Prime was the one to send them all back to Cybertron._ To _this._

"And Optimus Prime sure didn't have any qualms about  _buying_  himself an enslaved Seeker, a Seeker few have seen since. It's almost as if Prime doesn't want his pretty Seeker to be paraded around to show off and let others use..." 

Unlike Barricade, who has been put on display for all to see, fingered everywhere by so many Autobots, he stopped counting.  _Sucked spikes until his tank was full._

"Perhaps Starscream is just a slave on the paper?  _Perhaps_  he's functioning as the Prime's conjux? Just like they planned it: deactivate Megatron, disband you idiots and get rid of you to get the two of them back on Cybertron, in a comfy apartment and  _in power_ together and everybot else is none the wiser. It's  _perfect_. Prime is the perfect figurehead, owning a slave to show his Autobot loyalty and behind the scenes, him and Starscream plots  _together._ " 

_It could be true._

"And you're  _stupid_  enough to never even consider something like this. As if you're too underclocked to realize that the Seeker who constantly betrays his leader would have no problem betraying a bunch of nobodies if it would serve him well." The Autobot grins down at him.

Barricade lowers his gaze, not wanting to see the despicable mech, hoping that what he's saying isn't true.

"But enough of this. I think it's time for some training."

His wings are finally untied and he sinks back on his pedes to take the weight off his knees. The Autobot removes the pipe and Barricade almost sobs in relief.

His owner strokes his plating,  _as usual_ , touches his protoform here and there in the ordinary test of his acceptance. Barricade stays still and allowes it.  _He can't take another punishment right now._

"Very good!" The Autobot praises him.

The cuffs around his wrist-struts and ankle-struts are removed.

"On your knees and servos."

The Autobot takes something from subspace but Barricade stares at the floor.  _He'll know what it is all too soon anyway._  There's a snap of a bottle opening. The mech fiddles with something before bending down, a servo patting Barricade's hip. Something blunt, wet and cold pushes against the rim of his valve before slickly sliding into him. It magnetizes in place.

The Interceptor is revolted when something slimmer, but equally cold and wet, pushes against his wasteport, but he stops the protest in his vocalizer and fights to remain still, even though his port clenches shut reflexively.

"Relax." The mech croons. 

_As if saying that would make any difference when Barricade is having something shoved up his ass._

The Autobot pumps the toy with miniscule movements to get the opening to relax, sliding it a little deeper each time and Barricade can't help trembling from discomfort and disgust.  _It's the worst violation he has ever been through and he's obediently staying still, allowing it._

The Autobot pulls the toy out, pouring more lube on it, before continuing to ease it into the tight port.  _It burns when he's stretched._

"What was I  _thinking_?!" The Autobot says, pulling it out again and Barricade almost slumps in relief.

"It's better if  _you_  decide the pace. It will be much more comfortable that way. I'm sorry, Barricade." The mech says, the amusement in his voice making it a mockery of an excuse.

"I'll just hold it and you will rock back against it at your own pace until it's seated. Understood?"

_He thinks about refusing. There has to be some limits to how much indignity he is forced to endure. It's one thing to be subjected to this, but it's so much worse to actively partake. And he doesn't want to have his ass stuffed._  But he can't take more punishment right now, something he's certain the bastard would gleefully administer.

"Yes, Master." Barricade grinds out.

He moves slowly, leans back minutely and feels the thing slide in as deep as before and Barricade pushes a little further. It hurts and he moves forward to avoid it but then he pushes back again.  _It has to go in sooner or later._

The Saleen is rocking back and forth,  _fragging himself in the aft on a toy his owner is holding_ , and it's so vile, so utterly humiliating, he just wants to cry. He doesn't though, focuses on getting the hated thing into himself, to get it over with. The Autobot is staring with bright optics and a field heavy of arousal at where Barricade's port is slowly coaxed open to allow the toy inside.

The toy in his valve starts vibrating and Barricade can't help but gasp in surprise, his hips jerk and finally, the widest part of the toy in his ass slides inside to settle in place.

"Such a good little slave. Your aft is really tight. You look so good, stretched like this. I will enjoy when it's my spike your port is trying to accommodate." The Autobot praises him and wiggles the toy in Barricade's aft, slides his digit along the stretched rim.

_The thing in his ass starts to vibrate too_. Barricade mewls in surprise and the mech rises and walks over to his chair to take a seat, leaving the embarrassed Decepticon on the floor.

"Crawl here, Barricade."

He does, hips jerking when the movements make the toys hit nodes inside him. The Autobot chuckles.

"Oh, you are so  _easy._  Anything I throw at you gets you charged immediately. But right now you have to focus on _my_  pleasure, which is of course the only thing important. Lick my panel until it pops and then suck my spike until you make me overload. And you're not allowed to overload before I do."

Barricade slides his servos up the Autobot's thighs, dips his talons into seams and starts licking at the panel, wriggling his glossa into the seams. He moans when the vibrations get more intense. The Autobot chuckles when Barricade's mortification bleeds into his field.

The panel finally pops and when the Autobot's spike pressurizes, Barricade almost throws himself over it, distracted as he is by his own rising charge.  _He has to get his owner to overload first, he can't take more punishment._

"My, you are so  _eager._  Look at you, Barricade, having  _all_  your holes stuffed and you're obviously loving it, whimpering and moaning like a pleasurebot."

Rage surges quickly, but it's futile.  _He can't take any more punishment right now._  He puts it all into getting the Bot to finish. He can feel the amusement and arousal the mech feels when Barricade is humiliated and angry and still sucks his spike, still is close to overloading on the toys.

A firm servo on the back of his helm forces him to take the entire length of the spike, holds him in place when his tubing spasms from the deep penetration and the transfluid starts to fill his intake.  _The vibrations are increased and he overloads with a muffled wail. His hips jerk violently with his overload and Barricade wants to offline from mortification._ The vibrations stop and the Autobot lets go of his helm and the Saleen slides down to sit on his knees in front of the mech, optics on the floor.

"You're so good sometimes. Go back to your corner. I'll bring you some fuel. You earned it for once."

The Saleen moves to take the toys out, but his owner stops him.

"No, leave those in there. I didn't tell you to take them out. Now, go to your corner."

Barricade does as he's told, waddling due to the toys still inside him.

His owner brings him a small cube and Barricade sits awkwardly on the outside of one thigh, leaning on his servo.

"I think I'll leave you plugged for a while. You look so good like that."

 

 

*****

 

 

This time finds the Mustang kneeling, a spreader bar between his knees, ankle-struts tied together with thin wires that cuts into his struts if he doesn't strain to hold his pedes together as closely as possible and he really hasn't got the energy to do that. His arms are stretched upwards, wrist-struts cuffed together and chained to the ceiling.  _He has been here for hours._

The Autobot comes into the room and Barricade starts shivering in fear because the mech is carrying a cat o' nine tails. He comes up to the trussed up Decepticon and watches Barricade shiver, the Mustang's optics glued to the floor. The Interceptor flinches when a servo slides gently along his shoulder-wing, expecting pain.

"You shouldn't react like that to my touches. I can touch you however I want, when I want and you should just accept it." The Autobot says.

"I... Yes, Master." Barricade whispers.

"You realize I have to punish you for this?"

"Yes, Master." Barricade feels his tank churning.

The knots in the whip make small dents in his plating with every hit and Barricade is far beyond the point of trying not to whimper and wail. Exhaustion and the ever increasing list of damage makes him break. He starts sobbing, feeling so hopeless it hurts. It turns to a wail of pain, helplessness and desperation.

" _Please_ , Master! No more! I-I can't _take_ it.  _Please, Master!_  I'll do _anything!"_ He wails _._

The flogging pauses. Barricade cries, sobs wracking his frame.

"Will you accept my touches?"

"Yes, Master." He sobs.

The Autobot drops the whip and strokes Barricade's shoulder-wing. He lets himself slump to make sure he doesn't flinch. The mech strokes his arms, slides digits under his plating to touch protoform. He pinches a sensitive relay hard, but Barricade doesn't move.

"Good slave, accepting whatever I do to you." His owner praises him.

Slow strokes down his sides, across the painful lashes, down to his hips. The Autobot is watching him closely.  _Probably hoping Barricade will frag up._  His aft is pinched and somehow, Barricade still has enough pride left to feel indignant about that, but he forces himself to remain accepting. It isn't a surprise that the mech moves on to his valve, slides his digits in and out a couple of times. Barricade almost tenses when his owner wriggles his thumb into the Saleen's wasteport, but he knows it's just a test of his acceptance. If he is to get down, he better allow such disgusting touches.

"Such an improvement in your attitude!" The Autobot says.

He seems satisfied with Barricade's performance, or rather his lack of it, and frees the Saleen's wrist-struts. Barricade moves to loosen his stiff shoulder joints, but can't sink down deeper to rest his legs, the wire still stops that.

"Bend over forward."

He does, with a rapidly dropping spark. It's such a conflict, because his frame heaves a sigh of relief that he's finally allowed to rest somewhat but his processor is telling him that more humiliation is incoming. He rests his helm against the floor, bends his arms under him, as if the illusion of curling up would bring some comfort.

_It doesn't_.

Not when those hated digits slides over his anterior node, is pushed inside his valve and wriggles around and his frame is instantly betraying him once again. 

"It's astonishing really, how willing your frame is. It's as if you were made for this but something went wrong in the emotional programming, making you stubbornly believe you're _not_  a pleasurebot. Just let yourself go, Barricade.  _Enjoy_ it. It's all you'll ever be anyway, a pleasurebot. It's all you're good for."

Barricade stifles a sob, disgusted by himself.  _Bending over willingly for his owner, getting all charged and soaking wet._  He feels his lubricant well out and trickle down his legs every time the Autobot pulls his digits out.

"Oh yes, so very ready."

The mech moves to kneel behind him and Barricade hears plating slide away.

" _No!_  Please don't..." Barricade pleads in panic.

_He doesn't want to interface with this mech_. He knew this day was coming, but he can't stop himself from trying to pull himself away with his arms, legs still immobilized.

He earns a series of hard slaps on his aft for it and he cries out.

"You are  _still_  not allowed to tell me no."

A really hard slap, the still healing lashes on his aft making it very painful.

"You are  _not_  allowed to  _speak_  without permission."

Another slap.

"And you didn't call me  _Master!"_

Another slap.

"I will punish you properly for this later."

_He doesn't want more punishment, can't stand the thought of it and he sobs silently in despair._

The Autobot pushes his digits into him again and Barricade's valve clenches around them.

"Now, to make it up to me, and  _maybe_  earn yourself some leniency, you should beg me to spike you. I see the way your needy little valve is twitching and dripping, you  _whore_ , so don't try to tell me you don't want it. Modesty seems wasted on a pleasurebot."

_He really doesn't want it and he's mortified by the reactions of his frame._  Begging for it tastes bad, is so very humiliating.

"It's your choice."

_It's a mockery of choice. He can't take more punishment right now. So he finds himself swallowing his pride yet again._

"Please, Master, spike me."

"And why would I do that?"

Barricade flounders.  _Because he's a horny pervert who gets off on humiliating Barricade?_  He can't say that.

"My valve is so wet...Master _."_  Barricade tries.

"Yes it is. Why is it wet?"

"Because I'm ready for you? Master."

"And why is that?"

_Because he's constantly molesting Barricade with his digits and sadly, the bastard is good with his servos?_

"Is it because you're a needy whore? A little piece of Decepticon aft, always willing to offer himself to all and sundry?"

_It isn't true. Rage wars with shame for dominance when his Master says out loud what he thinks of Barricade. He fleetingly thinks of resisting again, weighs if a little rest is worth this humiliation._  

"Yes, Master." He concedes, too tired to let his dignity go first.

"Tell me what you are."

"I'm a needy pleasurebot of a Decepticon, offering up my valve.  _Master."_  He grinds out.

"I know."

The head of the Autobot's spike presses against the rim of his valve and slips easily into him with a wet sound that has Barricade wanting to cry again. The mech holds his hips and starts thrusting slowly into the limp Saleen.  _It's repulsive how good it feels to get this repulsive mech's spike inside his charged valve._ Barricade offlines his optics and pictures the faceless raceframe from his earlier fantasy as the one fragging him instead of this disgusting Autobot. His valve clenches.

"I knew you would like this, you little slut."

_If the bastard would just shut up and allow him to stay in his fantasy._

The mech touches his anterior node and Barricade's hips buck.

"Such a needy little slut. Need a spike to fill this wet little valve." The mech grunts.

His node is rubbed and Barricade can't help it, mortifying and disgusting as it is; he overloads with a moan. The Autobot follows him over and fills him with transfluid.

"Oh yes! Such a good pleasurebot." He groans before pulling out and standing to wipe himself.

Barricade isn't getting up, lays there still and silent, processing that he just interfaced with his  _owner_  and he overloaded for the mech he hates and fears more than anyone else. Transfluid is running out of his valve, leaving sticky trails on his legs, pooling on the floor under him.

The Autobot reaches down to finally release the wire around his ankle-struts and removes the spreader bar. Barricade tips over to curl up on his side.

"You made me in a very good mood. I'll postpone your punishment until tomorrow."

_How very generous._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barricade's Master wants to try something new and the Saleen is taken for a walk.

"Do you want some high grade tonight? And an entire night of recharge?"

Barricade can't believe his audials.  _Of course he wants that!_  It sounds like heaven, too good to be true, and it probably is. But he's willing to do  _anything_  to get it.

"Yes, Master!" He hurriedly answers.

"I do want something in return, of course..."

" _Anything,_  Master.  _Please._ "

Somewhere along the line of times he's been strung up, beaten and starved, begging has lost some of it's bad taste. He feels ok doing it.  _As long as he gets something for it._

The Autobot hums in that contented way that tells Barricade that he won't like what he will have to do, but he's too tired to care. The manacles around his wrist-struts are finally released and he rubs the sore components while his owner trails those hated servos along Barricade's sides in a way that can be nothing but sexual.  _The Saleen hardly notices, too relieved to be unchained._

"You have such an...  _inspiring_  frame." His owner purrs. "Lay on your front."

It's a new order, but the Mustang obeys, stretches out and rests his servos beside his helm.  _High grade and rest sounds very tempting._  His legs are nudged apart by the Autobot's pede and the mech kneels between Barricade's thighs. He hears a bottle being flicked open and then something cold lands on his port and runs down along the slit of his valve. Barricade tenses but remains still.  _High grade and rest._

"I've had your valve so many times, I think it's time we try something new."

_Something_ new, _something Barricade really doesn't want._

By now, the sound of his owner's interface panel sliding away is well known and the Interceptor can't mistake the slick sound for anything but his owner coating his spike with more lube.

"Relax. You've tried this before. It's just like the toys. Just  _thicker._ And longer." The Autobot chuckles. 

A condescending pat on his aft precedes a servo curling around his hip.

"You should probably lift your aft a little. Make it easier on yourself."

It's yet another new low; allowing his owner to fuck him in the ass, but he knows that the punishment for refusing and resisting would be a true horror, so he does as the mech tells him and lifts his hips, making his port even more accessible.

There's no preparation, no stretching him with a toy or digits, just the head of a spike pushing hard against his resisting port. He feels himself tensing, his ass clenching shut under the pressure. The mech behind him puts his servos on the floor next to Barricade's sides to get his entire weigh as leverage.

"Open up, little Con. I'm going in there one way or another. Lift your hips more." The Autobot says.

He does, still not at a point where he wants to resist. The position is humiliating but it somehow helps him to relax a little more, at least physically. The head of the spike pops inside with the next push. Barricade whines, unable to tell if it's because he's stretched wider than ever before or if it's the humiliation of being taken in the ass for the first time, something he has never wanted, by the mech who bought him.

The mech pulls out again and Barricade feels his opening clenching shut.

"Pit, you're  _tight._  I could do this all night, just push in and pull out." The mech groans.

_Barricade sure hopes that the Autobot really_ can't. But the spike is pushed inside again, a little deeper this time, and the Interceptor whimpers in discomfort. The mech pulls out, pushing digits inside instead, scissoring them to open him up and cold globs of lube are poured into him. Barricade sobs, because it's makes him feel like nothing more than a toy, a doll to fuck in any way that suits the mech, but he doesn't protest. _He needs fuel and rest._

The spike slides inside easier this time and it's repulsive that it isn't just because of the lube, but partially because Barricade's aft is adjusting to being invaded like this. The Saleen wants to break down and cry but he refuses to do it, doesn't want to give the mech the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much he hates it while still allowing it.

His digits scrabble uselessly against the carpet when it feels like he's being split open by the thick cock slowly going deeper into his ass. Barricade is panting desperately, because it hurts and he just can't take it.

" _Please_! Master, I-I can't take this. You're too  _big_! Master." He croaks.

The Autobot pauses, stops pushing deeper but doesn't pull out. Barricade squirms under him, port stretched more than ever.

"Are you saying that this little hole..." His owner slides a digit along the stretched rim. "...is too small for my cord?"

"I... yes, Master. You're so big. I-I _can't..._ "

"There's just one tiny problem with that line of reasoning, Barricade. I _own_  you.  _All_  of you. Including your tight little aft. Technically, this is  _my_  hole." The Autobot somehow manages to force a digit between his spike and the painfully stretched rim and Barricade bites his wrist-strut to keep from screaming. "And  _I_ have decided that my spike does indeed fit in this part of my little transfluid-receptacle too, so  _you_ have two options: be the good little whore I know you are and prove me right that I do fit inside you. Or be disobedient again and prove that you need more  _training._  I'm pretty certain I can come up with a way to loosen you up so that I will fit in there. What's it going to be?"

Barricade grinds his denta, mostly from pain.  _Whatever the mech cooks up to punish him and make his port looser will probably be much worse than this._ And he really needs some fuel and recharge.

"Please, take me Master. You'll fit in there."

The Autobot hums appreciatively. "Good little slut."

The push resumes, spike sliding in deeper and deeper. Barricade can't stop himself from whimpering and whining when the girth of the spike makes his ass burn and ache, but he lays still and allows the mech to slide in all the way.

The Autobot pauses when he's finally hilted and Barricade squirms under him, crying silently, the fullness a foreign feeling he can't say is enjoyable. A servo comes around his hip, digits searching out his node and he's repulsed at how quickly his charge rises when the mech starts circling it.

"That's it, little whore. I knew you'd like this too."

_He doesn't. It's humiliating and disgusting and Barricade have never wanted anybot to put their spike in there,_ especially not this ugly bastard _, and it makes it so much worse when his frame still responds like it does._

The mech starts rocking his hips and Barricade tries to grab on to the carpet, pushes his hips up even more to try to make it easier on himself.

"So eager, pushing back." The Autobot grunts, thrusting harder.

Barricade cries out, the spike still too big. The mech's hips are going erratic, his overload close and he rubs Barricade's node quickly when he hilts his cock in Barricade's ass.  _Barricade overloads._  With a defeated mewl, he jerks under the Autobot, even as he feels the transfluid being pumped into him and he wants to purge.

"Such a needy little whore, overloading with a spike up your aft. I've saved a really good load for you, so you can still feel me inside you when you're going to recharge tonight" The Autobot purrs.

Barricade sees the rise in his waste tank levels and whines in disgust.  _It just keeps rising, how much does the fragger have?!_

He's relieved when the mech finally pulls out, even though he's still sore. The Autobot sits back on his knees, looking at Barricade, the Interceptor still lying on his front, aft up, trying to collect himself. Digits invade him, slide in without any real resistance. The Autobot chuckles.

"See, you  _could_  take me after all. I think we need to get you a few new lines of code though..."

His owner fingers him, probably just to add insult to injury and Barricade barely manages to stifle his crying. _The mech would relish that._

"Go to your corner." The Autobot says and stands.

Barricade slowly gets up and starts walking, intensely aware of his owner's optics following him as he waddles, feeling sore and loose, the lube making him feel slick and gross. He immediately lays down on his side, not in the mood to even try sitting up and giving his Master the satisfaction of knowing how it aches, how he's reminded of how the bastard fucked him this time.

He's handed a small cube of high grade and Barricade takes a sip.  _He wishes it was stronger, or a larger size of cube, desperate for some chemical relief from the things he just consented to._

It isn't enough, but at least it numbs him a little, gives him a light buzz to keep his processor occupied, and as long as he stays still, Barricade can almost pretend that his ass isn't sore from being fucked by the mech the Interceptor fears even more than he hates. But the gauge in his HUD showing his waste tank level can't be shut down, and it's a constant reminder of what just happened.

 

 

*****

 

 

He's woken up in the worst way possible. Having something shoved up your ass while you're sleeping should be illegal.  _It probably is in most places._ But on Cybertron, Barricade has no rights anymore, so his owner does what he wants, and  _nobot_ would protest even if they knew. 

Except Barricade. 

He warbles in surprised pain, flailing around, still just halfway through an emergency reboot.

"Hey, what the...?!" He yells, but he's cut off by a harsh grip twisting his shoulder-wing and his protest turns into a pained cry.

"As usual, I'm doing what I want and you should just learn to accept it."

The Interceptor forces himself to still.  _He doesn't want to be punished right now._

"Good little slave. You are learning, dense as you are."

Barricade grinds his denta, partially because the thing in his port doesn't feel remotely as bad as it should.  _But he was fucked yesterday, so he's sort of prepped..._  He pointedly tries not to think about that.

"Come on. We have stuff to do today." His owner says.

Barricade gets to his pedes and swivels his helm around when something brushes the backs of his legs.

_A tail._  

The thing jammed in his port is a replica of a cyberhound tail.

"Barricade! Don't just stand there. We have an appointment."

The Interceptor turns back to stare at the Autobot, uncomprehending. The mech holds up a leash and wiggles it in the air.

"Walkies!" He singsongs condescendingly, a nasty smirk on his face.

_It's the first time he will leave the apartment since he got here and Barricade can't believe it's true._ He is under no illusion that the Autobot is taking him for a walk for Barricade's benefit.  _The tail is a good sign of that._  The Interceptor isn't keen on this, because it really can't mean anything good for him.

But he can't afford to be punished right now, so he waddles over to the Autobot and lets the mech clip the leash to his collar.

"If you had a consistent habit of behaving, I wouldn't use the leash, but you're sort of hopeless. And I like the symbolism, shows everyone that you're mine."

_Of course._

"You better not make it necessary for me to cuff you. I will bring them, though. Just in case."

"Yes, Master." Barricade answers.

The Autobot smirks when the Saleen shifts his weight to try to avoid the discomfort in his port.

"Do you like the tail I got you?"

"Yes, Master." Barricade grinds out.  _He hates it._

The mech's grin widens and he grabs the tail and pulls lightly, making Barricade squirm.

"I like the symbolism of this too. Everyone will know that you're nothing but a pet, a cyberhound in heat, taking it in all your holes. Because that's what you do. Don't you?" The Autobot stares at him with sadistic glee.

"I do, Master."

"I'm sorry,  _what_  did you do yesterday?"

"I took it in the port, Master."

"And who are the only ones who does that?"

"Pleasurebots, Master"

"That's right. And you overloaded from it too, didn't you?"

"I did, Master." Barricade mumbles, hating himself for that.

"Such a whore. I even remember you asking me to frag you, telling me that I would fit." His owner shakes his helm, as if he can't believe it, as if he disapproves.

"I did, Master." Barricade whispers.

"Right. Come on. We have places to be." The Autobot says and steps out in the hallway.

Barricade follows him, wishing that they won't meet anybot without really keeping his hopes up. He should be used to it by now, walking around with his interface plate open, but being out in public is something completely different than being naked in his owner's apartment, where a very limited number of mechs can see him.

_And to top his humiliation off, he has his aft plugged in the most visible way possible._

They're alone in the elevator when they ride down to street level, and that's a small mercy, but Barricade still halts just inside the door when they're about to exit the lobby. His owner turns to look at him, the leash pulled taught but not yet forceful. The Autobot clearly relishes the way Barricade doesn't want to follow him into the crowded street.

"Come on, Barricade. You can't avoid this."

The Saleen reluctantly follows the Autobot, optics glued to the ground.  _He doesn't want to know how many mechs are watching him._  He can't avoid hearing snickering and whispered comments here and there as they pass.

"Now  _that's_  a proper look for a Con." Somebot chuckles.

"I like that idea with the tail. Very suiting." Somebot else leers.

Barricade feels his faceplates burning with shame as he waddles along after his owner.  _How is it still possible to bring him even lower, to humiliate him even more?_

They reach the railroad station and Barricade stands next to the Autobot, waiting for the train. He glances around, because he haven't seen Cybertron for so long, but he quickly looks down again.  _He doesn't want to see all the mechs looking at him, clearly enjoying his position._

"Hey, mech! Long time no see." Somebot calls out.

Barricade glances in the direction of the voice, spark spinning. He's relieved when he doesn't recognize the mech coming up to them.  _At least it isn't someone he knows. That would be truly mortifying._

His owner shakes the mech's servo and they trade pleasantries Barricade doesn't care much about. But then the attention turns to him.

"So, you got yourself a Decepticon. I was thinking about it myself, but I figured it wouldn't be worth the hassle."

"Well, I just couldn't resist buying this one when he came out on the market, and I have not been disappointed, I'll tell you that."

"Really? Maybe I should consider buying one after all. But there's several good places across the city that offer good entertainment too."

"I know. I just wanted the full package, you know. I've trained slaves for so long, I wanted to do it for myself for once."

"It does sound interesting. Are they feisty? I was to one place where they're so very willing and pliant and while that's nice, it's more fun if they don't just offer everything right off the bat."

"Depends on where you get them. I know a few bounty hunters who sell newly caught Cons, those are probably the wildest you can get. Some of them are still sealed too."

"Send me the contact information to the bounty hunters, I might give them a call and check what they offer." The mech turns his attention to Barricade. "So is this one any fun?"

"Oh, yes. He's stubborn and resists everything, basically. It's very entertaining. Especially since he gets charged by almost anything. Go ahead, feel him up."

His owner's friend slides digits through Barricade's folds and the Interceptor shudders in disgust but remains still.

"He doesn't reign his field in at all, it adds to the entertainment." His owner says amusedly.

"He really does go wet almost immediately." The other Autobot says in astonishment.

"He's really needy. Asked me to frag his aft yesterday."

His owner's friend cackles a laugh and Barricade wants to offline from mortification when his lubricant drips down into the servo still pawing at his array.

"We still have some time if you want to try him out a little more thoroughly." His owner says.

Barricade whips his helm around to stare at the Autobot before he can stop himself from doing it.  _They're going to frag him right here?!_

"Oh, I'd like _that._  My train is late anyway."

"Come on, I see a sign for maintenance rooms over there." Barricade's owner says and drags the Interceptor along.

They shuffle into one of the maintenance rooms and both the Autobots turn to Barricade.

"Kneel."

He does, on the dirty floor in a public toilet.  _Like a two credit pleasurebot, desperate for another fix._

"Show him how talented you are with your glossa." His owner commands.

Barricade leans forward and licks the mech's panel, teases the seams with his glossa, and with a groan, the mech opens for him. The Interceptor sucks the quickly pressurizing spike into his intake and swirls his glossa around the ridges. The taste of pre-transfluid makes his valve go wetter and a slight charge tingle through his array and he's so disgusted, he wants to cry when his cooling fans starts to spin faster.

"You look so good like this, Barricade, serving your betters anywhere and anyway we want you." His owner says.

The Autobot bends down to grab the tail and pulls at it, making the plug inside Barricade shift around and the Saleen whines in discomfort.

"Oh, Primus, he's good at this." The mech who has his spike in Barricade's intake groans.

"You should try his valve too. I can see him drip for your spike, needy little whore that he is."

"That's generous of you." The mech says and pushes Barricade off his spike.

"Bend over the sink." Barricade's owner tells the Mustang.

It makes him face the mirror and that makes it all the more vile. His owner reaches for the tail again and puts it to the side, over Barricade's hip.  _Like a cyberhound in heat, offering itself to a mate._

"I'm just going to take a few pictures. He looks really good in this setting." Barricade's owner tells his friend.

"You could sell those pictures. I know a mech who works with a porno magazine specialized in the more... _obscure_ predilections. They pay pretty well."

"Really? I'll give him a call." Barricade's owner walks around, obviously taking pictures.

Barricade wants to purge. Everything about the situation is so very humiliating: how he's just lended out to another mech, being forced to see himself like this in the mirror, his owner taking pictures, ensuring that for as long as Barricade is functioning, this will  _never_  go away. And possibly, those pictures will be watched by numerous Autobots, might make their way to other Decepticon's too, show them what a filthy whore Barricade is, bending over the sink in a dirty public maintenance room.  _A toy in his ass, valve dripping wet._  

He can't even say what he hates most: himself or his functioning and he stifles a sob.

The mech steps up behind him and guides his spike to slide into Barricade's valve. It's disgusting how good it feels against his charged mesh. It's even more revolting that he's forced to see the mech fucking him, and his own bright optics, in the mirror. Still a gasp leaves him when the spike inside him reaches his ceiling node and his optics brighten even more.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you? Little slut." The mech grunts.

Barricade just mewls. He doesn't want to answer and he has found that he rarely has to if he makes the right noises while the mech frags him.

"Can I fill him up or should I finish in his intake? I'm thinking it might be inconvenient if he's dribbling all over on the train." The mech taking him asks Barricade's owner.

It's so degrading. Barricade is right there, but they don't even think about asking him, talks as if he's just a cum-bucket they can unload in for their own convenience.

"Intake is probably better. It's not like I allow him to use the seat, but considering how much he's lubricating, someone might slip in the puddle he'll surely leave on the floor."

Barricade's face burns in humiliation when the mech fucking him laughs, his thrusts faltering because of his amusement.

"Get on your knees." 

The spike is pulled out and Barricade kneels and opens his intake, the mech pushing his spike inside. Barricade sucks it just to get it over with, tasting his own lubricant. Then the mech pulls out again.

"Open your intake." The Autobot says.

Barricade obeys.  _It isn't worse than what is already going on._  The spike slides in and out of his wide open mouth, rubbing against his glossa.

"I like watching when I overload down someone's intake." The mech tells him.

_Of course_. They're all perverted bastards. But Barricade kneels obediently and lets the mech rub himself to completion, and  lets the bitter fluid slide down his throat, swallowing the whole load, because he's not in a place where he wants to draw his Master's ire. Sure, he doesn't want to be punished at home either, the Bot is cruel, ruthless and inventive. But Barricade will never ever forget the extremely humiliating public punishment he suffered that first day that seems so long ago, and he doesn't want a repeat, or worse, an expanded version. Primus knows what the mech would do to him _. Or rather, Unicron might know. Primus must've turned away from Barricade a long time ago._

The mech is finished and depressurizes his spike. Barricade waits for a new command from his owner, hoping that they are running out of time and have to get to their trains.

"You didn't overload, Barricade. I know you're charged. You're allowed to bend over the sink and satisfy yourself." His owner says.

Barricade's tank drops. It sounds like the Autobot is being nice, but Barricade knows that he has no choice. He slowly stretches out of his pose and leans over the sink. He sees them both in the mirror, watching him closely with bright optics. 

"Put your tail to the side. We want to see your digits slip into your gash." His owner commands.

Somehow, the action of moving the tail is one of the most demeaning things he has ever done. It reminds him of the toy in his ass, shaped to be as obvious as possible, and the place he's in.  _How he got here, walking in public for all to see, just for his owner's cruel amusement._

Still he does it, and then he slides his digits through his already slick folds, hips jerking when he touches his node. He sees in the mirror how the Bots stare, optics riveted to his array, and he feels so cheap when he slides his digits into himself to get it all over with. Disgusting as it is, he's lucky to already be half charged by being 'faced by his owner's friend and he quickly works himself closer to the edge with skilled digits.  _He's getting very good at finding his nodes and sensors._

Barricade finally tips over, moans out loud when he overloads and for just a second, he manages to forget where he is.  _But then the overload is over and he's back in a dirty toilet in a train station, naked and plugged and humiliated._

His owner steps up behind him, stroking his hip with a flat palm.

"Are you going to be good? Do as you're told?"

"Yes, Master." He mumbles, not liking this at all.

The Autobot coaxes the plug out of his aft and puts it on the sink. He stares down at Barricade's port, the Saleen can see what he does in the mirror.

"I have a charge I need to get rid of too..." His owner trails off and reaches down for his spike.

Barricade braces his servos against the sink, knowing what's going to happen, but he can't stop himself from panting desperately when his Master hilts his spike in Barricade's sore ass.

His owner's friend cackles a laugh.

"That seals it! I  _have_   _got_  to get a Decepticon!" He laughs, staring at where Barricade's frame is swallowing his owner's spike.

It doesn't take more than a couple of thrusts for his owner to finish and that almost makes it even worse.  _He's nothing more than a receptacle, a cum-bucket._ Barricade's waste tank levels rise again. His owner pulls out but the Saleen doesn't move.  _Where would he go, what could possibly make this feel better?_

The Autobots chuckle, still looking at him. His Master pulls out a datapad and shows his friend something.

"He'll be even better after this..."

The other mech barks a laugh.

"That's a great idea, my mech. I actually knew a mech, way back when, who had that tweak, a silver little beauty of a raceframe. He joined the service and went to war though, and I haven't heard from him for millions of years. A real pity, he was amazing in berth. Not that expensive either... Anyway, that tweak is amazing."

"Good to know that I made the right decision. We're going there on the next train."

"I think he should probably be empty for that procedure. At least from what I heard." His owner's friend says.

Barricade sees the Autobot grinning, the slow smirk that tells him that his owner has caught an inside joke that is all on Barricade's expense.

"You're probably right. Barricade. Void your tanks."

The Interceptor wants to offline from humiliation. He hasn't had to do _that_  without a modicum of privacy since he was so young, he still needed help from a grown up. But the mechs aren't kidding, obviously, so he walks over to the waste chute and sits down to finally get the cum sloshing around in his tank out of him. It would feel glorious, if it wasn't for the Autobots watching, robbing him of the relief of finally being allowed to get rid of his owner's fluids. Now it's just embarrassing.

He somehow manages to void, even with optics riveted to him, nasty smirks on the faceplates of the Autobots. The Interceptor cleans up and comes to stand in front of his owner, more than ready to go.

"Ah-ah, Barricade. Aren't you forgetting something?" His owner chides.

Barricade stares at the Bot in confusion.

"Your  _tail_! Put it back in." His owner says, as if it should have been obvious.

Barricade stares at the plug, crowned with a tail.  _He doesn't want it._  The physical discomfort of wearing it would be enough to make him say "no" if he had a choice, let alone the mental agony it causes.  _But he has no choice, he can't say "no"._  He picks it up slowly, as if it might turn into a snake and bite him, and looks at the bulging piece he's going to have to get inside himself again, the slim waist of the thing and the long part covered in slim plates to make it look like a tail.  _Mortifying._

He still bends over the sink to make it easier and puts the tip of the plug against his aft and pushes, forces it inside under the intense scrutiny of the Autobots. It meets resistance at first, but as soon as it's half way in, it pops inside in a humiliating way.

"Did you record that? It's sellable..." His owner's friend says.

"I did! I'll definitely give you a call tonight to get the contacts I need. I got one when he fingered himself too."

"Good, then you can tell me about the bounty hunters too."

"Absolutely. Well, this was fun, but I think we need to leave..."

"So do I, my train is departing soon. This was a real pleasure, though. Thanks! I'm looking forward to hearing from you." The mech says.

Barricade's Master waves him off and grabs Barricade's leash again, leaving the maintenance room to go back to the tracks. Barricade follows quietly, waddling even worse after his owner's intrusion. He's intensely aware of everybot around them, feels like they all know what just happened, what Barricade just did, and he's so very ashamed.

The train arrives as they walk up to the track and his owner leads him inside and takes a seat.

"Sit down on the floor, Barricade." He orders.

Barricade tries to curl up to sit on one thigh and the side of his aft, but the Autobot looks disapproving.

"No. Sit on your aft and cross your legs."

_It hurts_. Barricade is sore from just being fucked and the toy sure isn't helping. But he can't disobey right now, because his owner will come up with something so much worse, so he sits down and crosses his legs and grinds his denta to help dealing with the ache.

He feels the optics of other mechs on him, hears the whispers of how worthless he is,  _the Decepticon piece of scrap, on the floor where he belongs._

Barricade tries to shut it out, tries to not feel entirely hopeless, but he can't.  _If they have their way, he'll be kept down like this for the rest of his functioning, will be used as nothing but a cum-bucket forever._

Their stop can't come quickly enough, and when they finally get off the train, the Saleen heaves a sigh of relief. He follows his owner through more streets, hears more taunting commentary from mechs they pass, but still, he finds no relief when they arrive at their destination.  _A frame modification clinic, a shady one at that, windows covered up with poorly done stickers, faded with weather and age._  He's pulled inside and his owner takes a seat, urging Barricade to sit on the floor again. 

He notices that he's seemingly the only slave there. Most of the customers seems like low end pleasurebots, rebellious younglings and a few unusually worn middle age mechs who might not have seen better days ever.

Barricade's tank is sinking. Whatever they're here for can't be anything positive for him. His Master gets a cube of the complimentary low grade from the dispenser while they wait but doesn't offer Barricade anything.

A skinny, bordering on emaciated, femme with optics brightened by boosters, comes up to flirt with his owner, shows off her new mods. He plays along for a while, but eventually dismisses her, telling her that he has everything he needs with a condescending pat on Barricade's helm.

Then it's their turn.

He follows the Autobot inside and takes a seat on the berth when he's ordered to. A mech with old medic signs, not updated for a very long time, speaks with his owner, credits swap servos and a datapad is signed. The medic lights up a cy-gar before he turns to Barricade.

"Lay down, pedes in the stirrups." He grunts.

Barricade hesitantly obeys. The last time he was to a medbay was the check-up right after his surrender, and he did  _not_  enjoy that.  _But back then, he had some dignity left. Back then, he hadn't walked through half the town naked, with a toy in his aft._

And it isn't like he really has a choice, so he listens to the mech who probably lost his license as a medic a long time ago, and lays down, aft almost hanging over the edge of the berth. The plug is pulled out and he whimpers at the unexpected pain. Something very slim is pushed inside instead and another tool slips into his valve.

The medic grabs a datapad with several different cables attached and starts to find different sockets on Barricade's frame, plugging in. Then he starts to tap at the datapad and Barricade's entire array tickles and he can feel his calipers closing slowly. He squirms from the foreign feeling, can't decide if it feels good or uncomfortable.

"That's the tightest he's going to get with these calipers." The medic says.

"That's perfect. I'm not dissatisfied with his physical configuration, I just wanted a calibration to make him a little more efficient."

"Ok. So what's the biggest thing he's going to have to take? Look in the drawer over there. I think his calipers max out at size 13."

His owner studies the contents of the drawer for a while before he returns with a silcone tool that looks like two spikes joined at the bottom by a handle.

"This will suffice, I'd say. I want him to feel it for a while when I've taken him."

The medic nods and coats it with lubricant and pulls the slim things out of Barricade.

The Interceptor can't help himself, he cowers away when the medic lines the tool up with his openings.

"No, _please,_ Master! It's too big." He cries in despair.

"Shut up. That's what you whined about yesterday too, and still you took me. It isn't too big."

The medic taps at the datapad and something flashes quickly in Barricade's HUD and then the tool slides into him. There's decided resistance, his calipers feels too tight around the rods, even in his valve.  _It hurts._  He can feel his calipers adjusting, sees a calibration light flickering in his HUD.

The tool is pulled out and he feels his calipers slowly tightening back to their tightest setting. His owner fingers his valve first and then his port while the medic taps away at the datapad.

"Nice. I can feel him squeeze already, even after that."

The medic nods and lines the tool up again, pushing it inside without pause or preamble and Barricade feels both his orifices being forced open again, his calipers adapting a little easier thanks to whatever program the medic has in his datapad. The Interceptor can't stop himself this time, he starts crying in despair.  _They're turning him into a pleasurebot, calibrating him to have retightening calipers to make him more fuckable._

The tool is pulled out again and the slim things are put back inside. The tickling resumes and the medic controls his calipers remotely with the datapad, makes them open and close in cycles. It feels weird but the tickling continues and with a broken cry, Barricade overloads. He turns his helm away from the mechs in shame and stares at the wall.

"He will still tighten up if he has had something bigger inside him than what we had today, but it will be a little slower than when he has just been stretched within the calibrated parameters." The medic tells his owner.

Barricade cries silently, limp on the berth with his pedes still in the stirrups.

"Come on. We're done here." His owner tells him.

Barricade slowly sits up and slides down to stand, optics glued to the floor. His aft doesn't feel too loose anymore, but that just makes him want to cry harder, because the relief from that comes from his new _pleasurebot_ calibration. His owner hands him the plug again.

"Suit up. We're going out again."

Barricade stares at it, suddenly feeling more defeated and powerless than ever. _He really can't do anything about this._  

So he braces a servo against the berth when he leans forward and pushes it back into his ass. He's tighter this time, obviously, and he pants desperately when he forces it inside in spite of the pain. His owner leashes him again and leads the way and Barricade longs to be back in the tiny corner in his Master's apartment that has been his entire world for so long.  _Where nobody else can see how low he has sunk_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barricade's Master ups the ante, demands more and more and Barricade is forced to give up more and more of himself. Until he finally breaks.

"Come here, Barricade!" His owner calls out for him.

Barricade leaves his corner to come stand in front of the Autobot in the middle of the living room.

"Get on your knees and elbows."

_Oh, how he hates this. The pervert just won't leave him alone anymore, now that he has had Barricade all the ways he wants_. He still obeys, because it's easier.

"Very good. Stay there until I tell you otherwise. That's the condition for you getting any fuel tonight."

He's not dangerously low, but he's uncomfortable and that makes recharge almost impossible. He never gets a healthy serving of good energon.

His owner leaves him there, something that puzzles Barricade at first.  _He thought he was going to be fragged again._  But then the door chimes and his spark sinks, because he's sort of the centerpiece of the room.

The Autobot's friends file in, six of them, and he can almost feel their optics burning against his bared array.

"Conditions tonight?" One of them asks.

"No damage, always overload." His owner answers as he walks over to Barricade.

He crouches beside the Interceptor and leans in to whisper in his audial, one servo stroking Barricade's shoulderwing in a mockingly tender way.

"Tonight, the rules extend to all Autobots. No talking back, not allowed to say 'no', accept all touches."

Barricade's tank roils. Oh, he has been gangbanged by his owner's friends once before, but he has never had to endure it without being tied up, has never had to allow it without heavy coercion.  _This is another disgusting test of his self control_. The Autobot is petting and stroking him, showing off Barricade's acceptance of his touches.

The Saleen allows it, doesn't shiver in disgust like he wants to when his owner's digits dips in between cables and struts, caresses protoform and slides inside him.

"You're getting him well trained." One of his owners friends compliments the Autobot.

"Yes, he's finally starting to realize what he's made for. The only thing he's good at." His owner says.

Barricade grinds his denta while his owner is touching him everywhere in front of the Autobot's friends.

"Well, as you can see, he's getting more and more accepting." The mech finally stops and gets up from the floor.

Most of the mechs follows him into the refueling room to get high grade, but one stays behind with Barricade. The Interceptor wants to crawl away when servos stroke along his sides, over his hips and down the outside of his thighs as the mech kneels behind him. But he stays, needing that fuel.

"I remember how well you took us the last time, how you rocked back on my spike like a greedy little whore."

Blunt digits slides inside his valve and the mech pushes his thumb into Barricade's port. The Saleen can't stop himself from squirming slightly, discomfort and revulsion winning out.

"You're still really tight back here." The mech chuckles.

Barricade's wants to purge as he can see where this evening is going.

The others come back and the mech touching him stands up when they hand him a cube.

"Should we start out with a little show?" His owner asks.

"Sounds good." The others agree.

They take their seats in chairs and on the couch, turning to where Barricade is still holding his pose.

"On your back and spread your legs." His owner says and hands him a toy.

Barricade does as he's told, as vulnerable as it makes him feel. The Autobot takes a seat with the others.

"Play with yourself. We want to see you frag your little gash with that until you overload."

He slides the toy slowly through his folds, trying to make himself wet enough to be able to get it inside, but it's hard with six sets of optics staring at him.  _Probably recording_.

He pushes it against the rim of his valve, wriggles it to get it inside the unaroused opening and it's so degrading when it sort of pops inside, the Saleen's unaroused valve-lips not puffy enough to offer the resistance to smoothly slide it into him.

The Mustang starts to slide it in and out, tries to angle it to reach the nodes that will trigger some lubrication. It burns against his dry mesh. He rubs his node with one digit, hard-pressed to do  _something_  that will get him excited but it's so hard with a pack of disgusting predators watching him.

The toy still starts to slide smoother, his mesh getting wetter when he forces himself to focus on the faceless raceframe Barricade resorts to imagining when he's forced to perform.

"He's kind of slow for a pleasurebot, isn't he?"

"He is. We're working on that. He just needs to truly realize what he is. I mean, his  _frame_  knows what it's supposed to do. His  _processor_  just has to realize that he's nothing but a whore and give in to his frame's urges." Barricade's owner says.

"So he still is a bit resistant? Stubborn glitch. He has to know what he is by now."

"On the other servo, resistance can be so  _sweet_. There really isn't anything as arousing as the field of a mech whi  _really_  doesn't want to, but still you make him overload from something _nobot but_  a pleasuredrone would like." Barricade's owner's voice is decidedly nasty.

"That's true when you frag them. A show should be somewhat efficient."

With a gasp, Barricade finally manages to overload, shallow as usual. 

"Lame. Come here and ride me." One of the mechs says.

He walks slowly, doesn't want to do it, but still he obeys and straddles the mech's lap, letting the head of the Autobot's pressurized spike slip between his valve lips and slides down.

"Go on. It's not going to ride itself..." The mech urges him.

Barricade feels so cheap. But he wants to get some fuel tonight, so he starts riding, lifting off and sliding down on the mech's spike. The Autobot just sits there and watches his spike slide into the Interceptor and it's so degradingly obvious that it's a one-sided effort, it has nothing to do with pleasuring each other. Just Barricade getting them off because they tell him to and he complies. _Like a good little whore._

"Touch your node. I want you to overload on my spike."

The Saleen slides his digits over his node, still sensitive after his last overload and his hips twitches when he presses on it. It's awkward, the chair too narrow to allow his legs room to kneel over the mech wide enough to give him good balance and he isn't sure where to put his servos. _It feels wrong to put an arm around the Autobot's neck for balance. Too intimate._  And he doesn't know if he's allowed to. Instead, he leans backwards, puts a servo on the mech's knee.

"Good, I see even better how well your little gash just swallows my spike." The Autobot leers. "Look at you, dripping all over me."

_He feels so cheap. Disgusting._

But they just relish his field, the way he still keeps riding. He quickens the pace, rubs himself more intensely.  _It's better to just get it over with._

With a moan, he overloads, the Autobot grabbing him for the first time to push him down when his valve is filled with transfluid.

"Good little Con. Who's next?"

Barricade's owner looks at them with that calculating look that makes the Mustang wary.

"Come here, Barricade."

He rises from the Autobot's lap and fretfully walks over to his owner.  _He's going to come up with something humiliating._

"Turn around."

The Mustang slowly turns around, standing with his back to his owner. The others are watching with great interest and Barricade looks down to not meet their optics. They might take it for submission, but he's apprehensive about what kind of shame he's going to suffer.

"Sit on my spike."

Barricade sets one pede on each side of his owner's stretched out legs and starts to sink down to his lap but a servo on his array stops him. The Decepticon straightens, wondering what he did wrong and his spark spins wildly as he anticipates punishment.

"Take it in the port."

_He knew his owner was cooking something vile up._  The knowledge doesn't lessen his revulsion. It's one thing to have all these things done to him, another thing entirely to actively partake.

"Take your time. Here's the lube to make it easier. I know I'm big and your aft is tight." His owner smirks.

He's handed a bottle of lubricant and he stares at it for long seconds, can't believe that his functioning has come to this. Then he resigns. Again.  _He really needs that fuel._  He pours a good amount in his servo and smears it on his owner's spike, slides his servo up and down the component to coat it.

"You probably should make sure your aft is slick and loose and ready too. Just in case... Bend forward and work yourself with your digits." There's a nasty grin in his owner's voice.

_How is it even possible that the mech still can humiliate him, still can bring him lower?_ Every time Barricade makes a concession, every time he wants to refuse but still ends up doing something vile just to escape an unreasonably harsh punishment, sometimes just to get fuel or recharge, it's the worst thing he has ever been through. Yet the mech continuously finds new games to play to embarrass the Saleen, to push his limits for what he can comply with, what he can accept, new lows he can hit.

_But he really needs that fuel._

So he bends forward, the snap of the lid of the bottle loud as a gunshot to his audials, and pours a generous amount on his digits. The bottle is handed back to his owner and Barricade braces his servo against the table.

Then he teases his ass with his slicked up digits for the first time in his functioning.  _His owner is the one who introduced him to aft play and Barricade_ hates _it, knows that the Autobot does it just to show the Saleen that he can do anything he wants to Barricade's frame, gets off on the power he has over the Mustang._  To do it to himself like this is beyond mortifying and degrading and they're all watching.

_But he has no other choice_. So he pushes the tip of one digit into his port, slides it in and out and shivers in revulsion at how easily it slides in with enough lube.

"Deeper. You're going to take my length, better be prepared than sorry."

Somebot snickers. Barricade hangs his helm but does as his owner says, pushes his digit in as far as he can. He lets it slip out halfway before pushing it back in, trying to forget that his owner has a front row seat to the show and that his friends can see too.

"Swirl your digit around inside you."

_The bastard can never just shut up, always reminding the Saleen that he's there._

He draws a circle with the digit he has hilted inside and a surprised gasp leaves his vocalizer when he hits  _something_  in there that has charge coursing through his entire array. Barricade's optics brighten in mortification when the mechs watching chuckles.  _The Autobots all know._

"Add a digit. You know I'm thick, so you better get that little port of yours supple and ready."

_Disgusting._

He still pulls out all the way and adds another digit, pressing against the tight rim. Barricade hears the bottle being opened again but his port still twitches when cold lube is poured where his digits are trying to enter him.  _They slip in_. Barricade almost sobs when he slides the digits in and out, unable to decide if he hates what he's doing or what he knows he will have to do later most.

"Touch your node. I want to see you overload while you're fingering your aft."

He's so close to resisting.  _But he needs the energon and resisting surely will come with some form of harsh punishment_.

He reaches between his thighs with his other servo, nudges his node with digits that are getting more efficient with his quickly amounting experience.

_It feels good, makes his charge rise_. Barricade hates it all the more for it, because he doesn't want to be one of those who enjoys anything that has to do with his ass and they all see, are all going to know and have pictures and video clips. 

The Saleen cuts the feed from his optics but leaves them online, because while he doesn't want to see the mechs he hates watching him come undone from playing with his own port, he knows that offlining his optics is not an option if he wants to succeed with tonight's test.

_It doesn't help._  He can't even picture the faceless raceframe, because he just can't reconcile with getting charged by what he's doing and it isn't like he can deny where his digits are and pretend it's his valve that's being stimulated.

"Yes, pump those digits. Make sure your port is slicked enough to be more slippery than your valve." His owner says.

_Because the Autobot can never shut up, always has to make sure Barricade knows exactly what kind of cheap little pleasuredrone he is, what he's doing for a mech he fears and hates._

"Is it ok if I record this? For my spank bank." One of the others ask.

"As long as I get a copy." Barricade's Master says.

"Deal!"

Barricade tries to not care, keeps rubbing his node and pumping his digits into his ass.

"Scissor your digits. Let me see that rim stretch." His Master says.

He does, his port trying to resist the strain. But the Mustang knows that he's going to have something so much bigger inside him soon, so he tries to relax, tries to work himself open to make that easier and that's just another new lowest point in his functioning.

"Another digit." His owner commands.

When he has three digits halfway inside, Barricade shivers in despair as he feels like he has reached his limit. The width of his knuckles is just too much, he's too tight to take more.  _But he will have to get something's even bigger into himself soon._  So he pushes harder, wriggles his digits to coax them inside and with a whimper, he manages. The Saleen is panting as his port adjusts, the stretch burning. 

"Come on now, Barricade, just a little deeper. You're such a good little pleasurebot. Look at your valve dripping while you're prepping your aft." His Master croons, swiping hated digits through slick folds.

_It's so repulsive, so utterly humiliating, he just wants to cry, wants to refuse. He's just a toy to them. And they have recordings. They can show anybot what a whore he is._

Barricade just wants it to be over, so he pushes hard to get his digits deeper, rubbing his anterior node furiously. It aches when his forces his digits inside and he keens in pain as much as defeat when they slide in as far as he can reach. He still hits a node inside and his keen turns into a wail when Barricade overloads _._  The Interceptor can't stop a sob from leaving him when he finally lets his digits slide out, his ass slightly sore and disgustingly slick from all the lube.

His owner grabs his hips and urges him down towards the Autobot's hard spike, glistening with lubricant.

"I want you to work yourself down until I'm hilted in you." The mech tells him.

It's revolting when Barricade forces himself to reach back and grab the Autobot's spike to steady it against his opening. He's better prepped this time than when his owner took him for the first time and when he slides down, the head of the spike pops in quite easily.

_That just makes it more humiliating, especially when the other mechs snicker._

"He just sucked you right in!"

"Yes, he's turning into such a good little pleasurebot. This is what you _are_ , Barricade. Just three holes to frag. Now, take it all."

Barricade braces his servos on the Autobot's knees and sinks down a little deeper.  _It burns and aches._  The Saleen pants harshly, tries his best to relax and let the spike inside.  _The quicker he takes it, the quicker it's over._  With small movements he lifts off just to sink down a little further every time.  He lets his helm loll forward and leans heavily on his servos when he's sitting as deep as he can, whimpering at what feels like an impossible stretch.

"He's such a good whore, taking it for your pleasure even though he's so uncomfortable." One of the other mechs comments.

A servo on his shoulder urges him to lean back, the Saleen's back coming to rest against his owners chestplates. It forces the spike somewhat deeper and he whimpers. The Autobot slides a servo along the back of Barricade's thigh, lifting the Interceptor's leg when the mech has a firm grip on the back of his knee. Barricade's aft is pressed against the Autobot's pelvic plating, the spike hilted as deep as it could possibly go, and he writhes in discomfort when his owner spreads Barricade's legs, putting his leg over the armrest of the chair.

"You still got that mod of yours? He asks.

"Yeah." His friend answers, a nasty grin spreading on his faceplates.

"I think he needs to  _see_."

The TV screen flickers to life and Barricade is horrified to see himself the way his owner's friend sees him in great enhancement.  _Splayed wide for all to see, empty valve drooling and his ass obscenely stretched around his owner's cock._  His vents hiccup in distress.  _He's such a whore._

His owner strokes the rim of his port where it swallows the thick spike.

"Look at  _you_ , Barricade. Taking spike anywhere as if you're made for it." 

The mech slides his digit along the rim, through Barricade's wet folds, over his node and the Interceptor whines when contradictive input tells a tale of discomfort and pleasure. He's lifted, his owner easily lifting him with the servo on the back of Barricade's thigh while he still plays with the Interceptor's node and valve with his other servo. The spike slides out all the way and Barricade's optics are riveted to the screen in horrified revulsion.  _His port is so stretched and obscenely loose._  Ready to be  _fucked_. The Autobot strokes the rim again and slides two digits inside easily.

"Look at your aft, so open and ready for my spike to slide inside." The mech rubs his node with a digit. "You need to steer it right, my servos are busy."

He doesn't want to, but still he does, staring at the screen.  _It looks as if he's eager, reaching for the spike and pointing the tip at his opening._

His owner slowly drops him, letting him slide down the hard shaft while the mech still rubs his node. Barricade gasps.  _It doesn't matter how mortified he is, how disgusting it feels. He's still getting charged._

He can't look away, can't help but stare at the screen when his owner bucks up to meet him and sets a lazy pace of lifting and dropping Barricade, bucking his hips to hilt his cock in the Saleen's ass over and over.

The digits on his node are unrelenting and Barricade can see how the bio lights around his valve flicker, his valve is drooling enough to have his lubricant visibly dripping down to where the spike slides slickly into his port.

_Then he overloads._ With a loud moan, he tips over, digits digging into the armrests of the chair. He feels the spill of transfluid inside him and he's disgusted by it.

"I like filling you with my fluid. Now I know that every time, until I allow you to void your tank, when you check your waste tank levels, you will be reminded that you took me so well. That you belong to me and I can do what I want with you. Including having you take it in the port, like a pleasurebot." His Master smirks and pats Barricade's hip.

"Now, who needs a service?"

"He looks hungry and I have a nice, juicy pole right here for him to suck."

"You heard the mech! Crawl over there and get your intake around that spike." His owner tells him.

Shame burning his faceplates, Barricade keels forward, the softening spike finally sliding out of him. He crawls on all fours, stifling a sob when the movements make him feel exactly how slick and sore his port is and he feels so very violated. 

"Hahaha. Look at how stretched his aft is."

"Good thing I got him modified." There's a smirk in his owner's voice.

He kneels between the mech's knees and bends forward, letting the thick spike slide over his glossa and as far into his mouth as he can.

"Oh,  _damn_ , you're good at this." The Autobot groans.

A servo comes up to rest on the back of his helm as Barricade starts to suck and lap at the spike, bitter pre-transfluid dribbling from the head to coat his glossa.

He hears somebot else rising to come to stand behind him but he focuses on getting the blowjob over with. Digits slides through his wet folds, up to his port but he manages to not tense up. The other Autobots snickers at something Barricade can't see.

"You're behaving so well, Barricade!" His owner praises him. "I think you deserve a 'little' reward. I remember that you seemed to like this the last time."

Something blunt presses against his sore aft and Barricade can't help jerking forward. The spike in his intake actually saves him from failure this time.

"Oh, so eager! That's right, get that thing as deep as possible." The mech he's sucking groans, pressing hard against the back of Barricade's helm.

The tubing in his intake convulses, protesting against the intrusion and he can't go any further forward. A toy slides into his port and settles, leaving him uncomfortably full.

"You look so good like that. I think you will  _like_  this, so see it as a reward." The toy starts to vibrate, hits something inside him and Barricade twitches. "That stays in for the rest of the evening."

"Aaw, come on mech. Can't we fill his tank up instead?" Somebot whines.

"No, then I'd have to let him void tonight. I want him to have his levels make him remember how he worked his way down on my spike to take all of me in his aft of his own accord. He has other tanks we can fill... And a wet little gash that looks  _awfully_  lonely." His owner says and Barricade whines in humiliation when digits curl into his valve.

"Good point. May I?"

"I implore you." His owner says, a nasty smile in his voice.

A spike nudges past his valve lips and slides in to the hilt.  _He's so disgustingly wet and charged._  It's an immediate push and pull; servos on his helm and hard thrusts from behind to force him to swallow that spike and then he's dragged back to be hilted on the spike in his valve. The vibrations in his ass picks up and he can't help whimpering like a pleasurebot around that spike from all the input.  _He's disgusting._

The mech fucking his mouth cums, forces him down on his spike and Barricade is forced to swallow while the mech behind him rubs his node. Of course he overloads, the Autobots laughing at him. He's pulled from the spike in his intake and laid on the table.

Somehow, being fucked missionary style is at least as humiliating as being bent over with his helm against the floor. It's such a mockery of consensual interfacing, doesn't bear the same indications of dominance and submission. No, it wears the skin of wanted touches, hungry glossas and optic contact, but all Barricade sees when looking past that veneer is hateful degradation. He can't say no, he just has to lie there, be used in humiliating ways and watch the mech doing it.  _As if he likes it._

But Barricade needs that fuel and is afraid of the suffering his owner insist on inflicting, so he spreads his legs for the ugly mech fucking him and hopes it will be over soon. 

Another mech kneels beside the table, pulling the Mustang up until his helm tips over the edge. He shoves his spike into Barricade's intake and thrusts hard. It slides all the way in, Barricade's stretched throat making it possible. Barricade flails in surprise and they laugh.

"That's awesome!"

The push and pull is on again, until he gets another load to swallow. Some of the fluid leaks out at the side of his intake, runs down his cheek, but most of it winds up in his tank. 

The mech finally pulls his cock out of Barricade's mouth and the Interceptor can't help but sobbing.  _He hates what he's consenting to._

The Autobot using his valve resituates and holds his spike out in front of Barricade's face.

"I feel like finishing down your throat, spike-hungry little whore."

The Saleen opens his intake again, jaw aching.  _Hopefully, it'll be over soon._

This spike is thicker, longer, but the angle still makes it possible to get it all the way down his tubing. He wants to retch, but he can't and the mech sets a rough pace, chasing his overload. Oral lubricant wells out with every pull out. 

Somebot grabs the toy in his ass and wriggles it, teases his anterior node with hated digits and Barricade overloads, arching his back. Transfluid slides down into his tank and his levels rise yet again.

"On your knees and servos." Somebot tells him.

He does, a spike shoved into his valve and another one held out for him to suck. He opens his intake, allows the mech to push inside.  _He really needs that fuel_.

It's the same push and pull, no real coordinated rhythm, just mechs chasing their overload, using his frame.  _Him_ allowing _them to use him._  More cum in his mouth and he swallows.  _Disgusting._  His levels rise again.

The mech taking his valve pulls out, coming around him. Barricade glances at the others gathered, watching the sticky Saleen on all fours on the table, ass stuffed with a toy, waiting for his other holes to be filled. He tastes his own lubricant when the spike is pressed into his intake, more fluid spilled over his glossa.  _The ones who already used him are already stroking themselves, getting ready for another round._  

His tanks have gone from 5% to 34 and they show no signs of being finished. With a spinning spark, he realizes that they could keep this up all night, could take turns and have enough time to rest to go over and over...

When the next spike is held out for him, he backs off. Sits back on his knees and holds his servos up in front of him, as if to protect himself.

" _Please_ , no more! I can't... Master,  _please_!" Barricade begs, sobbing.

"You were doing so _good_ , Barricade. But as usual, you just can't keep being good for any amount of time. We're going to have to punish you, you know that, right?"

" _No!_  Please, Master! Have mercy." Barricade cries.

He's dragged from the table with harsh servos on his shoulder-wings, wrist-struts chained up and to the sides to the ceiling. His owner's friend gets the honor to place the spreader bar between his ankle-struts.

"Who wants to try first?" His owner asks.

Barricade's frame is shaking with his sobs.  _Why couldn't he just have kept taking it?_  But it was so horrible...

The whip hums to life.

"So how do I go about this?" One of his owner's friends ask.

"Upper back is less sensitive, lower back is medium. Shoulder-wings are really sensitive, especially the base, sides, aft and thighs are sensitive too. The more control over force and placement you get, the more effective it is. Enough force, you cleave plating. Hitting a sweet spot, you don't need much force at all."

A broad lash lands across his lower back, a hard hit. Barricade whimpers.

"Pretty good for your first time. Try to get a feel for when and how the tip turns. Try to aim on a specific spot."

The next lash misses him, the whip snapping inches from Barricade's side and he jerks away to avoid it out of instinct.

"Damn it!"

"Not bad! Remember that force like that will damage pretty badly in a soft spot. It's better suited for...well, say lower back or possibly aft." Barricade's owner instructs the idiot with the whip.

The next snap lands in the back of his thigh and Barricade howls in pain.

"Really nice! Sensitive spot, a hit when the tip turns to really make it snap... Well moderated force for a spot like that. Inside of the thighs should be less hard, outside harder."

"Is is even possible to hit his array in a useful way?" Somebot else asks.

Barricade whimpers and tears at the chains.

"That's for experienced whippers. You want a broad hit without much force that misses the exterior node. It shouldn't even cleave protoform, just sear it, or you might put your toy out of commission for a pretty long time."

Another clumsy lash lands across the base of his shoulder-wing and Barricade cries out.

"That wasn't too bad. About the force and style of hit you want across the array." Barricade's owner praises. "You could try hitting that spot with the turn of the whip. It's a good exercise, and he screams delightfully when you get the technique right." His owner encourages.

The mech holding the whip is worthless. He manages to land the snap under the plating on Barricade's side instead of where it was intended. The Interceptor screams in agony, legs giving out from the pain.

"Not bad. You just have to work on your aim!"

The next one cleaves plating on his lower back. Barricade howls in pain.

" _Please_ , Master! Please, stop!" He whimpers, crying in pain.

"Shut up, Barricade. You  _chose_  this. You could've chosen to comply but you didn't. This is what  _you_ chose. Or should I offline your vocalizer again?"

_He can never know when,_ if,  _he will get the use of his vocalizer back, so Barricade does as he's told._

The mech continues trying to hit Barricade's shoulder-wings, landing a couple of hits but mostly missing. It doesn't matter, it still hurts.

Then the whip is handed over to the next mech and the clumsy lashing continues. Barricade whimpers with each hit, cursing that he couldn't just keep swallowing cum.

"Look here, I'll demonstrate." His owner says.

A hard lash lands on the base of his shoulder-wing. Barricade cries out and jerks violently.

"You want to hit when the tip is turning over. That way, you have the most speed when it hits."

"Nice!" Somebot cackles.

"And when your aim gets better..."

The tip hits under a plate on his side. Barricade screams and tries to throw himself the other way.

"...you can get it under plating to hit protoform. With that kind of force, there will be damage. Look, he's leaking under there now."

"Damn, mech! You're  _really_  good at this." Somebot says appreciatively."

"Thank you, I've trained a lot."

The whip comes up between his legs to fall across his array. It burns his valve lips and Barricade's scream rises in pitch.

"See how little force is needed there? And you saw the angle I placed it, avoiding his slit and node."

A mech comes up to him and watches the zinged mark across his array.  _As if he's an experiment and not a mech._

"That takes skill. Perfect placement; he's still fraggable." The mech says and returns to where the others are waiting.

"Who's next?" Barricade's owner asks.

The whip is handed over and another mech takes over. It's no comfort that they are so unskilled, because quite a few lashes make up for lack of aim with more force instead.

It was a long time since Barricade counted the lashes, except those times when his owner demands that he does. All he knows is that they're going for a long time, taking turns, his Master doing a few more demonstrations.

He's hanging by his arms when they finally get bored, his pained screams having died down to pathetic whimpers. His owner comes up to him, pets his sides with mockingly gentle servos.

"Do you see what you forced us to do? You're just hopeless. But I'm  generous at spark, so you will get a new chance tomorrow."

The Autobot taps his digit on the plug still filling Barricade's port.

"I just can't decide; leave it in overnight for a little extra discomfort or taking it out and..." He trails off, a slow smirk stretching his intake. The mech seems to come to a conclusion.

The toy is coaxed out of him. It hurts when the widest part slides out and it stings and burns even after it's out of him. His owner pushes his digits inside instead.

"I thought I'd give you until tomorrow to tighten up a bit. It feels better for us if you're a tightaft, and tomorrow, I'll allow them all to frag you in whichever hole they want." The mech murmurs to Barricade, petting his side with gentle caresses that makes it feel all the worse.

With that, he's left in his awkward position, his entire frame hurting from lashes, his fuel tank sloshing with transfluid.

The Autobots leave the apartment and as soon as the door locks behind them, Barricade starts crying like a sparkling.

 

 

*****

 

 

"Ride this, Barricade." His Master tells him.

Barricade stares at the double shafted toy, bobbing on the chair it's fastened to.  _Another day, another show_. He grabs the bottle of spray lube almost on autopilot and slicks himself up inside before he straddles the chair backwards, and starts to sink down on the silicone cocks. They're purple, with glitter in the half translucent material, and the fact that it's the faction color of the Decepticons doesn't evade him.  _His owner thinks of everything, of course he likes the symbolism of Barricade being fucked by his own faction._

But the Saleen needs fuel and recharge, so he sinks down to the hilt, just to lift off and slide back down again in front of the ever present Autobot optics.  _It isn't even that hard to do it anymore, he requires less and less prep the more his owner trains him_. 

He holds on to the back of the chair to steady himself and rides the toys, vents coming faster and harder as his charge rises.

"Suck this, Barricade." His owner commands and he's handed yet another silicone toy.

The Mustang grabs the purple thing and sucks it into his intake, takes it as deep as he can.  _It's humiliating, of course, but he's still relieved, because a toy can't make him swallow transfluid, so it could still be worse._

He holds the fake spike with both his servos and swallows it over and over at the same pace he rides the other toy, mindful to keep his helm angled to the side to give the Autobots behind him a good view of all points of penetration.

He overloads, grinding down on the double shafted toy, moaning around the thing in his intake. 

"Stand up and arch your back. Show us your needy holes." 

He leans his servos against the chair and stands, the toys sliding out of him. The Interceptor arches his back to put himself on display, and it feels so very awful.

_Fuel and recharge._

"Look at us over your shoulder."

It's an odd request. They mostly don't give a fuck, not when he's already done with his humiliation, but he still does, sees their bright optics on him.

"You got the footage?" His owner asks.

Barricade's spark goes cold.

"Yeah! That's going to sell really well." His owner's friend answers with a chuckle.

"You heard that, Barricade? You're going to be a _star_! We finally found something you're good enough for. You'll be a pornstar." His owner tells him.

Barricade is so close to puking. He stifles the distressed whine that's starting in his vocalizer.  _Everybot will see, everybot will know._

"Come here and ride me. I feel like celebrating.

Numbly, the Interceptor walks to his owner and straddles his lap.

_Fuel and recharge._

 

 

*****

 

 

Barricade's fuel levels are a measly 1% and he has no idea when the Autobot will return. Recharge doesn't come easy when he's that low either. He stares at the three quarters full cube on the table. His owner started drinking it and then he forgot it there, speaking on comms and still speaking when he left the apartment.

_He could take a few sips. But he isn't allowed to leave his corner._  Barricade stares at the line on the floor, the border of what has become his world.

_But going into stasis seems pointless too._

He takes a hesitant step over the line, expecting something to happen: his collar activating, his owner to jump out from somewhere, an alarm to start blaring.

It doesn't. He moves his other pede and stands for a second just outside the line. Then he hurries to the table and picks the cube up.  _Better be back in his corner quickly._  He still stares at the cube for long seconds, waring with himself.  _He shouldn't. But stasis seems pointless. Just a small sip._  He takes a sip and then another one. This energon is so much better than what he gets. It tastes divine. The starving Decepticon can't stop himself, he downs the whole cube greedily.

When the last drop slides down his intake, he's alarmed.  _He was supposed to just take a sip!_  But it was too good to stop. He tries to put the cube back exactly where it was. Hopefully, his owner has forgotten he didn't finish it. The Saleen hurries back to the corner and lays down, better fueled than in a long time. It wasn't high grade, but his starving frame almost reacts as if it was. He feels relaxed and a little fuzzy. His self repair throws itself to work while he slips into recharge.

He's rebooted with a kick in the back. Barricade cries out in pain and tries to crawl away, confused with his systems only half rebooted.

"You little thief. Did you really think I wouldn't notice that you finished off my cube?"

"Master, I'm _sorry! Please..._ "

He's cut off by another kick.

" _Sorry_  doesn't give me my energon back. I thought we went through this before."

"I was so low! I thought I would go into stasis before you came back! Master,  _please!"_  Barricade warbles."

The kicking stops and that smirk Barricade has come to hate stretches the Autobot's intake.

"And here I thought we were getting somewhere with your self-control training. I've told you before that I know the state of your frame at all times. You know that I will tell you what to do and when to do it. Your frame is _mine_  to control. If you're going into stasis, it's because I want you to."

"Yes, Master." Barricade whispers.

"Stand up."

Barricade's helm snaps up to look at the mech in surprise.  _No kneeling?_  Then he catches himself and looks down again as he climbs to his pedes. His owner is holding a thick wire. He loops it around Barricade's neck.  _Like a leash._

The mech threads it through a ring in the ceiling. Then he pulls.

"You see, I control _everything_. Even if you're allowed to function or not."

Barricade grabs the loop around his neck, tries to get enough room between his neck and the wire to get energon to his processor, to get air, but it's impossible.

"I control the very air you breathe." His owner says and pulls harder on the wire, leaving Barricade on the very tips of his pedes.

Barricade is panicking, survival coding surging to the surface and he thrashes wildly to get free. His optical feed is going pixelated.

The wire is released and Barricade stands on wobbly legs, panting to draw deep intakes. Then the wire is tightened again.

"Maybe I should just give up. You're _hopeless,_ can't do anything right."

Barricade is struggling where he's almost suspended in the air, desperate to vent and get energon to his processor. His Master is watching him with an amused quirk in the corners of his intake. 

"I could deactivate you and nobody would object. It wouldn't be considered murder because you're my  _property._  Nothing but a possession. Offlining you would be nothing worse than me breaking my own chair."

The time drags out, he's letting Barricade hang longer this time and the Saleen feels himself slowly falling into stasis. He's starting to realize that the mech might not let him down at all and he puts up a wild struggle in panic as he realizes that he doesn't want to offline, not really.

He feels his struggling going weaker, his audial feed shuts down.  _He doesn't want to deactivate_. Barricade's processor is going sluggish. His legs feels warm, but he doesn't understand why. The mech is grinning at him.  _He doesn't want to die._  His struggling is down to feeble twitches now. Then his optical feed is fading to black and he realizes without a doubt that it's over.  _He's going to offline._

He reboots on the floor, the wire still around his neck and Barricade curls up and cries like a sparkling, wailing out his fear and shock. He obviously lost control of his primary waste tank, because he's laying in a puddle of fluid, but he doesn't care, still too terrified. His entire frame is shaking and he's clattering wildly, but until his Master tells him not to, he isn't even going to try to stop.

The Saleen sits up and wraps his arms around his legs, warbles into his knees.  _He was so fragging close to deactivation. His Master could offline him whenever he wants and nobody would care. He really should stop resisting. Why did he keep fighting?_

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." He sobs into his knees, shaking his helm.

"I know you are, Barricade." His Master says softly, petting his helm. "I feel generous today. You go wash up in the washracks and I'll take care of  _your_  mess." His Master says.

"Thank you, Master. That's very kind. Thank you so much, I'll be good." Barricade sobs and hurries off into the washracks.

_His Master is really kind, cleaning up after him._  So Barricade hurries in the shower, doesn't want to make his owner disappointed again.  _He just have to be good, doesn't want to force his Master to punish him again._

The cleaningdrone is finishing up when Barricade comes back, his Master sitting in a chair. Barricade kneels in front of him, optics downcast in submission. He doesn't flinch when the Autobot pets his audial.  _His Master can touch him any way he wants._

"You  _can_  be good." The mech says, sounding astonished.

"Yes, Master." Barricade answers.

"I think you deserve a little reward. Come sit in my lap." His Master says, patting his leg to urge Barricade up into his lap.

The Saleen doesn't hesitate, he sits on his Master's lap and follows easily when big servos grabs his shoulders to make him lean his back against the Autobot's chestplates. Barricade is rearranged so he's legs rests over the armrests of the chair, splaying him wide, and a servo immediately comes down to his array, stroking his anterior node.

"I only do this to be nice, you know. Everybot likes to overload, right?"

"Yes, Master." 

Barricade's charge is rising and he's starting to vent faster.

"Don't fight it Barricade,  _enjoy_  it. This is just for you, for your pleasure. A little reward for being so obedient and well behaved."

"Thank you, Master." Barricade moans.

Because it  _does_  feel good when his valve clenches around digits, slick with his dripping lubricant. He arches his back instinctively, mewling at the sensation when those slick digits slide out to rub his node again.

He overloads with a loud moan, his entire frame tensing before going limp. His Master chuckles and pets Barricade's thigh.

"Such a good little Decepticon. Now, back to your corner and have a little rest. We're going to a friend of mine tonight. He has a new Decepticon."

"Yes, Master"

Barricade hurries back to his corner to have time to get as much rest as possible. He's going to need it, they're going to 'face him all night. But if he's good, his Master won't punish him. His Master is really nice like that, when Barricade doesn't misbehave and force his Master to punish him.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something really snapped inside Barricade when his Master choked him. His Master can still find a few ways to humiliate him and bring him lower, but there is a rock bottom, and Barricade is bound hit it.

Barricade does what his Master tells him to do, he knows better than to fight it.

Riding a Decepticon is a new low, of course, as is playing with Nitro Zeus' valve. Barricade has no better option, though. Deep down, the Interceptor knows that it's wrong, but at the same time, he knows that his Master is only forced to punish Barricade when he doesn't do what he's told, so he obeys.

And when the show is over, the Autobots are aroused again and Barricade still does whatever they want him to do, because he doesn't want to make them punish him again. 

Nitro Zeus is snarling insults at Barricade, and while the Saleen already knows what kind of a worthless whore he is, it still stings to hear one of his faction brothers thinking so lowly about him.

 

 

*****

 

 

He knows this game. He needs to void his primary waste tank again. Barricade squirms. _A hundred and five percent._  It won't be long before he loses control. The Saleen sits on his pede, presses down on it to make it easier on himself.

_Of course his Master's friends arrive._

He might obey every command his Master gives, and he might be very good at waiting for the commands now. That doesn't mean that he doesn't feel any shame, that he never gets embarrassed. Wetting himself with an audience is still humiliating, but he's fairly certain that it is exactly what he will be forced to do in a little while.

"Barricade, come here."

He waddles over to his Master, frame shivering with the effort to hold it.

"Since it's your creationday, I thought you could have him. I know your predilection, so I've made him save up." His Master tells one of the other Autobots.

Barricade's spark sinks when the mech's bright optics turns to him and roams his frame, stopping at his distended ventral plating. A servo cups his belly and strokes it with firm movements and Barricade whines in desperation, shifting from pede to pede.

"That's so nice of you! Do you mind if I take him for a walk?"

"No, he's yours for the evening. Do what you want. We can play with Nitro Zeus tonight."

The Saleen is leashed and led out through the door without a a struggle.  _He can't, he can hardly even walk without loosing it._

The ride in the elevator feels like it takes hours. The Autobot is pressed up against his back, pressurized spike rubbing pre-transfluid against Barricade's aft and lower back. One servo is cupping the Mustang's array, the other is firmly stroking his ventral plating. Barricade is panting and shivering with the effort to hold it.

"You better not piss yourself here. Wouldn't it be  _awful_ if you had to clean the floor?" The mech purrs.

It's no relief when they're finally at the bottom floor and the Autobot depressurizes his spike, but Barricade doesn't drag his pedes this time when he's led outside. It isn't because he's in a hurry to get out, but because he doesn't want to have an accident inside.

The Interceptor tries to keep up with the mech, but then he just can't. He feels a trickle down his legs and sobs in humiliation when he stops to try to force his pressure gauge to stop it. The mech turns around and looks at him with a nasty smirk. Now that they've stopped, Barricade manages to stop the trickle.

"What's wrong, Barricade?" He asks and raises an optical ridge.

"I... I leaked a little, Sir." Barricade mumbles.

The mech looks down Barricade's frame to the small puddle under the Interceptor.

"Well, cyberhounds does void outside..." He snickers.

He turns and drags Barricade along and the Interceptor is forced to struggle to keep from voiding. 

Until he just can't stop it. The pressure gauge opens and Barricade freezes on the spot, waste fluid running along his legs and splashing on the ground. A group of younglings see him and he hears them barking with laughter and Barricade is so mortified, he wishes he'd just offline.  _Of course he doesn't._  He cries silently at how low he's being brought again and again, cries for what his functioning is.

The mech who borrowed him is staring at him with bright optics until Barricade finally is empty.

"Come on, you filthy whore."

Barricade is dragged into a dark alley, still sobbing, legs disgustingly wet.

"On your knees." 

He obeys, because he's not allowed to say 'no' to an Autobot, and his Master is so nice and doesn't punish him if he behaves.

A spike bobs in front of his face and he leans forward and takes it into his intake without being told, letting it slide in all the way. The taste of pre-transfluid has him getting charged.

"Look at you, getting all charged by being humiliated. Filthy little Con." The mech mumbles, almost to himself.

The Autobot grabs Barricade's helm-fins and starts rutting into his intake and that's almost easier. The Interceptor zones out and just allows the mech to use him. He still overloads when his mouth is filled with cum, but then it's finally over and hopefully, they'll go home.

They get back out of the alley and the younglings are still there.

"Hey  _Con_! Nice little gash!" One of them shouts, pumping his digits in the air in a disgusting gesture.

The mech holding his leash snorts a laugh.

"Isn't he the one in the movie? You know, with a purple toy in every hole?" The kid's friend shouts.

Barricade wants to purge.  _They really did publish that._

"That's right, he's the one! Are you old enough to watch stuff like that?" The mech holding Barricade's leash shouts back.

"Pit, yeah!" The cocky youngling answers.

"You ever fragged anybot?"

"A few." They all brag, but it sounds like they're not entirely truthful.

"You want to have a go at him?" The mech points to Barricade.

"Frag  _yeah_!"

"We should wipe him down first." His Master's friend says.

Barricade is dragged along to another public maintenance room and he's ordered to clean up after his little accident. They mock him for that while he tries his best to clean himself with rags and solvent from the sink, then they pull him back out and drag him into another alley.

"Cons doesn't deserve to be in a berth, they should be on their knees, in a dirty alley, like the worthless pleasuredrones they are." His Master's friend says, and the younglings cackle. "How do you want him?" He asks the kids.

"I want a blowjob." The one who seems like the leader of them says.

Barricade sinks to his knees and opens his intake again. The youngling grabs his helm and bucks into Barricade's intake, but it's no problem for the Interceptor; he has taken much bigger spikes.

It doesn't take long for the inexperienced mech to overload and Barricade swallows almost automatically, overloads as usual and feels strangely detached.  _It's nothing new, no more humiliating than anything else._

He's ordered onto his knees and elbows and the next spike slides into his valve and he stands there, letting them use his frame without actually feeling all that much.

They all have a go with him, take him everywhere, overload in him and on him and Barricade overloads too, but it's almost as if it's happening to someone else. He doesn't care. He can't be more humiliated, they have already brought him to rock bottom.

It's over rather quickly, the younglings don't have the stamina and control to drag it out, and when they're done, they call him the usual nasty names, but it's nothing new. Barricade feels numb.

He's dragged back towards the apartment and he follows easily, not paying any mind to all the whispers and snickers around him.  _He already know what a worthless Decepticon whore he is, they're not telling him anything new._

*****

 

 

"On your knees and servos, Barricade."

The Mustang walks to the middle of the floor, like he's told, and sinks to his knees and servos.

Nitro Zeus is ordered to fuck him again, and the bigger Con is delighted, as usual. They've done this quite a few times by now. Rough servos grab his hips and Barricade is pulled back, impaled on the thick spike, his aft clanging against the Jet's crotch. He moans, because a spike in his valve does feel good and his frame reacts on autopilot.

Mentally, he's not nearly as humiliated and disgusted as he used to be.  _Not that he'd ever let Nitro Zeus frag him if the situation was different..._

But it isn't. There's nothing he can do but obey his Master, to keep from forcing the Autobot to punish him.

"Frag him in the aft, Nitro. He's like a  _drone_!" One of the Autobots says.

"Oh, I've been waiting for  _this_." Nitro Zeus purrs in Barricade's audial.

The Decepticon shoves his cock into Barricade's ass, making the Interceptor whimper at the rough, dry penetration. He doesn't react more than that, too used to getting fucked in the ass to really have a problem taking the spike.  _And he has to comply, doesn't want to draw his Master's ire._

"Pit, you're  _tight!_ " Nitro Zeus groans.

_They all say that. It's nothing new, not really humiliating anymore._

"He's getting so _boring._  His field hardly even shifts, no matter  _what_  we do to him." His Master's friend says.

"No, I'm thinking about getting rid of him and getting something new. I think I'm done with that one, he's fully trained." Barricade's owner says.

Nitro Zeus overloads and pulls Barricade with him; the usual, shallow overload that just leaves him unsatisfied, that doesn't really mean anything for his frame. The bigger Decepticon stands, bracing himself against Barricade's back to get up, and his weight pushes the Interceptor down, chestplates against the floor. Barricade stays where he is.  _His Master told him nothing else, and maybe someone else is going to use him._

*****

 

 

"Come on, Barricade. We're going out."

The Interceptor walks over to where his owner is waiting inside the front door. He leans his servos against the table, ready for the plug with a tail he always has to wear when they leave the apartment, but nothing happens.

"You don't need that where we're going today."

"Thank you, Sir."

The Saleen has grown used to wearing it, and while it doesn't really bother him that much anymore, it's still a relief to go without it.

They have long passed the time when a leash was used; his Master relishes to show off the control he has over his Decepticon and Barricade knows better than to misbehave. He walks silently a step behind his Master, a little to the side, like he has been trained to do, optics downcast. The taunts and whispers as he pass doesn't really bother him anymore.  _It's all true._

They take the train and he sits on the floor, like he has been told to do every time. His Master makes smalltalk with a fellow passenger, but Barricade doesn't pay much attention, more than to be certain to hear if he's given a command.

It's not a very long walk from the train, but he still gets tired, low on fuel as he is, and Barricade is relieved when they stop outside a building.

The sign above the door is freshly painted and neat, and says "Middle Iacon Pound".

"I find you boring and unsatisfying, now that you don't struggle anymore. I think it's time for me to get a new Decepticon. They'll probably re-home you or something. Now, come along."

Barricade obediently follows the Autobot inside, wondering what kind of place this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, that's all from Barricade's time with his first Master. Poor Cade, so very broken.


End file.
